


Broken Things That Can't Be Fixed

by DoctorMerlinReid



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, M/M, Spoilers, spoilers for Infinity War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-04-29 23:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14483820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorMerlinReid/pseuds/DoctorMerlinReid
Summary: Through his entire life, there is no response to the words that Steve writes on his arm, no response through the soul bond that allows soulmates to communicate. It's in a different time when someone finally responds.In case you didn't get it from the tags: SPOILERS FOR INFINITY WAR.





	1. Steve

SSSSSS

Steve had always been under the impression that his life was pretty good. It wasn't the easiest life – he was dirt poor and constantly sick and he didn't have many friends, - but it was still a good life. He had his wonderful, beautiful mother and his best friend Bucky. They made it through everything together and nothing seemed quite so tough with them fighting with in, always in his corner.

But there was one blight on his life, one single thing that made life a little less bright than it could have. His soulmate.

The soulmate process was sort of complicated, but easy enough when you grow into the idea. You were connected to another person through God's will. Through His will, you were able to communicate with this soulmate through your skin. The words you wrote to each other would stay imprinted on your skin until the day you died. So, for example, if Steve wrote, "the sky is pretty today" on his arm, it would show up in the exact same spot on the arm of his soulmate. There were a few exceptions, of course. The words didn't transfer over if the other person was dead, which made sense. Also, (this was the most complicated part) you couldn't write anything about yourself or your location. Steve would never be able to write Steve Rogers or Brooklyn or Bucky Barnes's best friend or super skinny and sickly with blonde hair. It wouldn't transfer over and would just disappear from his own skin within moments.

Still, there had to be a way to easily identify a soulmate. So, there was a symbol unique to each person. When a person is born, the outline of the symbol or picture or whatever would be on some spot on their skin. When their soulmate touched that specific spot on their skin, the mark would color in and the soulmate would be identified. The soulmate had to touch that  _specific_  spot, though. Steve had heard stories of people who had gone years being best friends with their soulmates and not knowing that they were connected in that way until they got touched in that certain spot. Luckily, the touch could be transferred through clothing. If not, then Steve would have a problem. His was just to the side of his chest, partially under his arm and partially along the bottom of his ribs.

Although, it really wouldn't matter anyways. It just brought Steve back to his problem. His soulmate wouldn't respond. No matter what Steve wrote/drew on his skin, there was never a response. He knew that his soulmate was still alive because the soul mark turned entirely black when a soulmate died. That hadn't happened yet.

At first, Steve thought that his soulmate just hadn't been born yet. Then he was ten and starting to wonder at the age gap. Then he was twenty. Then he was twenty-five.

And he just kind of… gave up wasn't the right phrase. He would never give up on his soulmate, but he stopped trying. He stopped writing to and drawing for his soulmate. If the soulmate wasn't going to answer, then he wasn't going to bother. Until his soulmate decided to finally respond, then that person was going to get the same silent treatment that Steve had been receiving for over two decades.

There was no way that his soulmate wasn't born at that point. There had never been a recorded age gap between soulmates that was this large.  _Never_. Steve highly doubted that useless little him was the first one to break that pattern. He just wasn't good enough for his soulmate to respond. That was fine. He could deal with that. He had Bucky and he had the war and he had a country to fight for. That was enough.

He ended up in the army, meeting and falling instantly in love with Agent Peggy Carter. He survived the super soldier serum and he survived being an actor to raise morale. He survived going into enemy territory alone and rescuing all those people. He survived the war and he fought and he loved, and, for a while, everything was fine.

Thoughts of his soulmate faded away until he honestly wasn't sure that he would ever care if they decided to respond or not. It became obvious that Peggy wasn't his soulmate (the words he'd written weren't displayed on any portion of her skin and tentative touches to each other's soul marks yielded no results), but they didn't care. They continued in a chaste romance that was constantly put on hold and paused in order for them to fight the war to end all wars, the war that would determine the fate of the entire world. For that entire time, he didn't write a single word on his skin.

Then Bucky died.

Steve tried to drink himself into oblivion, letting the grief and rage soak out of him through the amber liquid that everyone else seemed to enjoy so much. It didn't work. The alcohol was metabolized faster than he could even feel the slightest buzz. There was no way to dim the pain, no way to numb his feelings into something manageable.

So, he resorted to the one thing he'd told himself he would never do again. Carefully, hesitantly, Steve grabbed a marker that he always kept in his back pocket and wrote carefully against his palm (somewhere he knew his soulmate would see, somewhere that person would definitely read the words),  _I know we really haven't been on speaking terms throughout our lives, but I really need my soulmate today. My best friend just died. He was… the bond isn't letting me describe how it happened, but it was horrible. I had to watch him go. If you could please respond, it would help so much. I just need one word, one line, anything. Please_.

Long hours passed. Peggy came to find him. He spent his night in a destroyed bar smelling like alcohol and depression. Morning rose over the sky like a mockery to Steve's pain. There were no words written back.

In the end, Steve mused, it was probably better that his soulmate never responded. If his soulmate had responded, it wouldn't have been only Peggy crying as he flew himself into the frozen ocean. Without his soulmate getting to know him and getting a connection with him, there was no way for the soulmate to feel as much grief that he would now be gone. And yet, selfishly, Steve wished he had at least one word to remember them by, one single communication with the person he had been destined to love.

So, heart aching at the pain he could be causing his soulmate, Steve kept one hand on the steering mechanism of the plane, the other fishing out a pen from his back pocket. He braced his hand against the wheel and then wrote along the side of his index finger,  _I'm sorry we never really got to talk. I'm going to die now, and I just wanted to say that. I'm sorry._

And then he plunged into the icy depths of the ocean.

SSSSSS

Steve hadn't expected to wake up. He especially hadn't been prepared for the time period that he woke up in, the multitudes of bright, flashing lights and the new technology and the completely different mannerisms. He would have been less shocked if he had woken up on a different planet.

For a while, he drowned. He found himself locked in an endless battle with a crippling sadness. Everything he knew was gone. Most of the people he'd fought with, cried with, battled with were dead. They had died of old age and different battles and diseases and he hadn't been there for any of them. The only one left he could find was Peggy. He sat by her side and talked to her and smiled when she talked about her husband and the rest of her family. He patiently reintroduced himself every time she forgot seeing him again. It was painful, but it was all he had left.

Except, maybe, his soulmate. Steve's soul mark was still just an outline on his chest, which normally signified that his soulmate was still alive. The scientists at SHIELD were skeptical about that. They believed that something with the serum and the makeshift cryo that could have stopped his mark from turning black with his soulmate's death.

Still, Steve refused to give up hope on his soulmate. Even though he knew, logically, that his soulmate must be incredibly old and close to death no matter what, he didn't care. The idea that he still had a soulmate, the most important part of his past, was what got him through the days where he wasn't sure if he could continue living on in this world where everything was familiar and so, so different.

Despite all of that, Steve could never bring himself to actually write any words to his soulmate. The soulmate had never written back, not even after Steve's last words. Steve wasn't sure what he'd even say, what he  _could_ say to explain what had happened, what was going on.

Eventually, there were new distractions. The Avengers were formed, and they fought together and won together. There was a city to protect and a home to find. The Avengers lived together for a brief stint. They partied, and they protected, and they had fun. They were the team that Steve had left when he'd crashed into the ocean. Thoughts of a soulmate flitted away with each bond he formed with a new teammate.

They weathered the Chitauri and all of Tony's problems and the return of the Winter Soldier (who was actually Bucky, which broke Steve's heart and put it back together all at one time) and Ultron. Then, the team fell apart.

\ The Avenger's Civil War was one of the singularly most painful things Steve had experienced. He'd really thought that the group had something special, something that was unbreakable. He never believed that something like the Sokovia Accords could bring them all down so easily.

So, when the two sides of the war stood on either side of that German airport, the farthest thing from Steve's mind was his soulmate.

The battle was nothing but intense anger and passion and so many rampant emotions that weren't being let go of in the healthy way. The teams fought each other with everything they had, and Steve found himself ultra-focused on the task. He needed to make sure that at least some of them got to the other Winter Soldiers out there and stopped them. Tony wouldn't believe him when he tried to explain the situation, so it was up to Steve alone to fix this.

He fought, and he kicked, and he punched, and he might have dropped a truck on someone. Eventually, Steve and Bucky escaped, fighting through people Steve had once called friends.

They won, sort of. There were no more super soldiers unleashed on the world. But they lost in a much larger way. Tony found out what Bucky had done to his parents. The backlash was spectacular, not that Steve expected any less than that from Tony. The fight left Steve's best friend without an arm and one of his other good friends (at least, that's what Tony had been, once upon a time) hurting and alone.

It wasn't until Bucky was safely away in Wakanda, trapped in a cryo freeze that would hold him until he was ready, that Steve really was able to relax. It was when he was washing up, getting rid of all of the blood and dirt and grime from his skin. That was when he saw it. His mark was filled in. Irritatingly enough, the symbol was filled in with red, white, and blue. As much as people seemed to think otherwise, he wasn't actually the walking personification of the American flag and not everything in his life was those colors. But, of course, his soul mark would be.

It was a testament to how tired he was that it took him another moment or so to really process what that meant. His soul mark was filled in.

His  _soul mark_  was  _filled in_.

He was immediately hit with the awful realization that he still didn't know who his soulmate was.

Steve must have been touched during the fight, someone getting in a punch there or a kick or something. He must have been so focused on the fight, so high on the adrenaline that he hadn't noticed the burst of emotion that came from bonding with a soulmate for the first time.

No, no,  _no_! This wasn't  _fair_. Steve had been waiting for  _decades_  to find his soulmate, to have some kind of contact with the person. And now that he finally had, he hadn't even noticed! It wasn't  _fair_. Steve punched a wall, feeling a hint of satisfaction at the dent he'd made in the wall (that satisfaction was immediately replaced with guilt for having punched T'Challa's wall).

Steve shook his head, centering himself. It was fine. He'd confirmed two things. One, his soulmate was definitely alive. Steve had even narrowed down who it could be. It was one of the people on the other side of the fight who had to have touched him. There weren't many people that he had touched on that side. He could work with that.

He had also confirmed why his soulmate had never responded. Somehow, the universe had known that this was going to happen to Steve Rogers. Whatever worked the soul bonds knew that he was going to fly himself into the ocean and end up in a frozen state for several decades. It knew that he wouldn't wake up until this time where he'd (hopefully) live out the rest of his life. So, the soulmate for him was in this time period. The person hadn't been born when Steve was alive.

It still didn't entirely answer why the person wasn't writing back now, but Steve could kind of understand. When there was an age gap between two people in a soul bond, the younger one would be born with all of the words on their skin that the other member of the bond had written in their lifetime. Whoever Steve's soulmate was had been born with almost twenty-five years of writing on their skin. They had right across their index fingers a promise of death.

Theoretically, Steve's soulmate would have been able to see that their soul mark wasn't black, but that wasn't necessarily a guarantee. Sometimes, soul marks were strange. All that person would know was that there was a promise of certain death written across their fingers and no more words written after that. No more contact, no other expressions of actually being alive. The person must have been terrified that Steve wouldn't respond, that he was actually dead.

Determined to rectify what was probably one of the biggest messes in his life, Steve grabbed a marker from the room he was in and held it above the back of his hand. He just held it there for a moment, poised and ready to express everything he'd been holding in for a very,  _very_  long.

He couldn't do it, though. What if he'd gotten all excited and the person still didn't respond. It would break his heart. With Bucky in a cryo chamber and the rest of his friends either in a prison (T'Challa was gathering the intel and resources to get them free; all Steve had to do was wait until T'Challa gave the go ahead) or hating him, there was no one to pick him up if his soulmate didn't respond.

Steve shook his head resolutely. He couldn't do that to himself, to his soulmate. For all he knew, his soulmate was having the same problems he was, struggling with the ideas of the risks and the rewards, weighing them against each other and trying to figure out which option was better.

Steve would help them make that decision. He'd contact them first. Taking one more deep breath, Steve wrote carefully,  _Hey, we soul bonded not that long ago. I think it was at that fight at the airport. It was good to finally meet you, even if I'm not entirely certain which one of the people I fought was you_.

For a second, Steve stared at his hand, willing someone else's handwriting to etch across the skin there. Eventually, he closed his eyes and pinched his nose. He was being ridiculous. He didn't even know what time zone this person was in. They could be in a dead sleep. It could be hours until the person responded. Besides, he would feel the writing across his skin when his soulmate responded. It was fine. He would just do other things while he was waiting.

Thankfully, for Steve's own sanity, it was only a few minutes later that he felt a pen scratching across the back of his hand, right under his own words. The feeling startled Steve for a moment, forcing him to drop his shirt as he gasp, hand reaching behind him for a shield that wasn't there.

When he finally realized what was happening, Steve grabbed his hand and held it in front of his face, eyes wide with wonder as they took in the slightly slanted, definitely not neat handwriting taking shape across the back of his hands. The words sounded excited,  _Yes! I saw you! You're Captain America! Or, uh, Steve Rogers, I guess. Um, yeah. Your name. Soulmates should definitely call each other by their names and not, like, their superhero names. Yeah. That. Um, still. The bond isn't really letting me tell you who I am? But, we can definitely try hints! I think I have a hint that can get you to guess who I am. I like arachnids. There, does that help? Sorry, I've got awful handwriting and I'm writing all over the back of your hand where people will see all the time and it looks horrible. And I'm rambling, so it's super long. I ramble a lot. Sorry. I say sorry a lot too. I'm kind of a mess, actually. I've never really done this before, though, so? Sorry!_

Even without the hint about arachnids, Steve would have known who it was. There was only one person at that airport with the same level of childish excitement and rambling nature. Spiderman. Steve was soul bonded to Spiderman. It kind of sucked that he couldn't get the kid's real name, but it was alright. They'd meet eventually. Once Steve was no longer a war criminal and wasn't being hunted down. They'd meet up and have a nice dinner and Steve would finally have the soulmate he's waited a lifetime for.

Suddenly, Steve remembered something, just avoiding slapping himself in the forehead. Frantically, Steve wrote in the crook of his elbow,  _Honestly, I deserve worse than a cute rant across the back of my hand. I dropped a truck on you! Are you alright? None of us hurt you too bad, did we?_

A response was forming almost as soon as he'd finished his,  _It's fine! Really, I'm cool. I heal fast. I mean, it was mainly the little guy that got really big who hurt me. It doesn't feel all that good being hit by him. The truck was all good. I caught it and everything, so… Wait. Did you say cute rant? You thought my ranting was cute?_

Steve smiled to himself, tucking all of warm, fuzzy emotions he was feeling down into his chest where he could call on these happy, safe, wonderful feelings he was having at the moment. He wrote back carefully,  _It's definitely cute. I'd like to hear you do it in person someday. I really am sorry about that whole fight._

There was a pause after that and Steve wondered if he'd done something wrong. Now that he was really thinking about it, this person had been fighting on the opposite side of Steve. Spiderman had been fighting on a different side than Steve, aligning himself with the people who had tried to stop Steve from saving the world. Was Spiderman going to be okay with being soul bonded with someone who didn't have the same beliefs as him?

Hesitant words scrawled across Steve's shin, starting at the bottom and working their way up towards Steve,  _So, Mr. Stark didn't really tell me what the fight was about. He said that if I went with him, he wouldn't tell my aunt that what I was doing in terms of the whole fighting thing and he said that he'd give me a way higher quality suit. He said that you were wrong, and you thought you were right and it made you dangerous. That's all I knew about the whole thing. But science has proven that there is normally a really strong correlation between the morals of two people who are soul bonded, which probably means that I didn't get the whole story. Is there a chance… could you please tell me what really happened?_

Unbelievably grateful that this person who didn't even really knew Steve was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, Steve felt emotions clog his throat as he wrote out an abridged version of what had transpired in this whole messed up situation. There was another long pause after Steve finished writing and he figured that Spiderman was taking a moment to draft his response. Finally, words were being written just above where his own ended,  _I'm really sorry that I fought against you. I didn't know all of that. I shouldn't have been stupid enough to not get the whole story. I was just kind of star struck and I felt threatened and it was all just exciting, and I let my emotions run away. I should have known better. I messed up._

Even through writing, Spiderman sounded so dejected. It was obvious that he was beating himself up about it. Steve hastened to correct him,  _It wasn't your fault. It wasn't Tony's either. It was a bad situation with a lot of miscommunication and misunderstandings. Everything moved too fast for anyone to talk it through. I'm sorry that Tony did that to you, though, whether it was really his fault or not. But, please, don't apologize for this. Let's let any past mistakes be in the past, okay?_

Spiderman immediately responded,  _Okay_. There was a second's pause and then Spiderman was writing,  _Hey, that thing you wrote on our index finger? Was that when you were crashing into the ocean? Oh, wait, sorry, that was insensitive!_

Steve laughed out loud and grinned as he responded,  _It's not insensitive. You're fine. You can ask anything you want. And yeah, that's what it was from. I thought that my soulmate was from that time, not from this one. Never thought I was going to wake up in a different time. I wanted to warn my soulmate first._

The conversation dissolved from there, turning to lighter subjects. Spiderman never tried to get information about Steve's plans or his whereabouts and he never tried to berate Steve for anything the man had done. They just talked about anything and everything. It was the happiest Steve had been for a long,  _long_ time.

SSSSSS

Steve and his soulmate had been talking regularly for almost two years. Steve had been tracking Spiderman's process as a vigilante in New York as often as he could. There were times when his missions didn't allow him access to a television or news outlets, but when they were in places where he could get a moment to learn about his favorite arachnid themed hero, he would obsess over it.

At some point, he'd had to tell the rest of his team about it, confiding that Spiderman was his soulmate and that they'd been talking regularly. Even if he hadn't felt guilty about talking to a member of "the enemy" without them knowing, they were bound to notice his obsession with the new hero sooner or later. The team took it well, which was a relief he didn't have words for. They did, however, use the knowledge to tease him at every opportunity.

Most of the time, Steve and Spiderman contacted each other once a day at the very least. Sometimes they'd have tiny conversations that spanned hours, but other times there would be a word or a smiley face as a way to just check-in.

The first time that pattern was broken was the first time the little burner phone in Steve's pocket had rung. Banner's terrified voice had sent him racing after Wanda and they'd found her and Vision just in time to save the two. It was a close call, though, and Vision was hurt more than he should have been.

Steve lost himself in the situation, traveling to Wakanda and having Bucky finally join the team that had rallied around him when he was still lost in the mindset of the Winter Soldier.

During the battle against Thanos, there had been something written on his side, circling the symbol that marked the love of his life. He hadn't gotten a chance to look. Bucky was dying, and other people were dying, and everyone was crumbling to dirt around him. He silently cried as he world was ripped down around him.

As the survivors circled around Steve's kneeling form, he cried out in agony, clutching at side as something  _burned_  through him at that exact spot.

The others jerked towards him, caught off guard by the scream. Steve shook his head frantically, knowing in his heart what had happened, but not willing to admit it. Not now. Not after what had just happened. He scrabbled for purchase on his shirt, tearing it up and off. The others stared at him, caught between flinching back and trying to help.

Chest heaving, Steve's slightly misty eyes landed on the pitch-black symbol taking up the side of his chest.

He twisted to the side and retched into the bush, the people behind him making sympathetic noises, adding their own grief to his. Carefully, Steve caught his breath, reading the words written there shakily,  _I'm sorry. I know I say that a lot, but I really mean it this time. I'm dying, Steve. I'm dying, and I don't want to go. I want to go home and meet you for real this time, and I want to introduce you to my aunt. We'd go on that romantic dinner you always talk about and then we'd kiss goodnight and it would be so sweet and perfect and we'd spend the rest of our lives together. I'm sorry we can't do that. I'm sorry that I'm doing this to you. I'm so, so sorry. I love you._

Steve didn't even know his name.


	2. Peter

PPPPPP

Peter has always been under the impression that his life was pretty sucky. It wasn't entirely bad – May was amazing and Ned had stuck with him through pretty much everything, - but it was still pretty sucky. His parents died in a plane crash, leaving him alone and shy and scared with May and Ben. He'd warmed up to them eventually, falling into a good pattern with these people who were so wonderful and so amazing even when they hadn't really wanted children in the first place. They did such an amazing job with him. And then there was the spider and the gunman and then Ben was gone. It was just May and Peter and, when he could spare the time, Ned.

There was one bright spot in his life, one single thing that made life a little brighter than it was otherwise. His soulmate.

The soulmate process was sort of complicated, especially for someone like Peter. He was one of the people who was the younger half of a soul bond with an age gap. Whoever his soulmate was, they were older than him, old enough to have a lot of writing on their skin by the time Peter was born. Obviously, there were no identifiers, but Peter felt like he'd be able to recognize his soulmate if he could meet him. The writing was so endearing, so perfect that Peter couldn't help but trace the lines of every word. He'd learned to read off of those words printed so very neatly across his skin, learned to love art from the fine, almost thoughtless and still gorgeous, pictures sketched across his skin.

His situation was a little bit more complicated than others, though. When he was really little, he'd read a note across his tiny pointer finger. It was an apology and it seemed really sad and somehow a part of Peter ached when he read it. There was a part that he didn't understand, though. His soulmate had said that he was going to die. What did that mean? Why would his soulmate apologize for that?

Shaking his head, Peter decided that the easiest solution was to go ask his parents. He toddled through his house, carefully shifting down the stairs and heading towards where his parents were in the kitchen. His mom was smiling, laughing at something Peter's father said. His dad said something else, long words that Peter was determined to learn sometime soon.

His mother saw Peter first, smiling gently down at him and picking him up to sit in one of the tall chairs. She went back to sipping at her tea, a pencil idly flipping between her fingers, "What's up sweetie?"

"I have a question!" Peter announced proudly. His parents loved it when he asked questions. Whenever they were gone for long time periods – off at work where sometimes they couldn't just leave at the normal time – Peter would come up with a question to ask them just so they would smile at him and answer it perfectly because they were so smart.

Peter's father grinned and ruffled Peter's hair, "Let's hear it, then."

Peter stuck his finger out, showing his parents, "What does 'die' mean in this context?"

The smiles quickly slid off of his parents' faces. They glanced at each other, something sad and pitying lining their expressions. Slowly, words failing them for the first time, Peter's parents explained the concept of death. The concept itself was easy, someone is gone and can't come back, but the theory behind it was more difficult. Where did the soul go? What happened to it? Peter resolved to think of it further at a later date.

His small face grew sad and he asked cautiously, "Does this mean that my soulmate is dead?"

"No, sweetie, no." Peter's mom hastened to answer, "The sign that a soulmate is dead isn't what they say, but by that symbol on his neck. If that symbol is all black, then your soulmate is dead. Until then, they're alive and waiting for you, okay?"

"Okay." Peter said, before his face scrunched up, "Wait, then why would they say that? Why would they tell me that they were going to die?"

Peter's father caught Peter as he curled back into his seat, pulling Peter back and stopping him from receding into himself. He whispered into Peter's hair, "It's okay buddy. Your soulmate probably thought they were dying. They probably didn't know that they were going to survive. Why don't you go ahead and write something? See when they write back, okay?"

Peter nodded, trying to keep his tears in. He reached over the table and found a little marker. Carefully, trying to use his best handwriting (which really wasn't all that great; he didn't see the point in having great handwriting when he people could read what he had already), he wrote out,  _Hi, I'm your soulmate. It's nice to meet you and I'm glad you didn't die!_

He was pretty sure that his parents were stifling laughs as they read his words, but he wasn't sure, so he didn't bother being offended. He stared intently at the words as the seconds ticked on. His mom and dad moved into another conversation, using more big words that Peter was determined to learn at some point.

After another minute or so, Peter's eyes flew open and he whacked at his father's arm, "Why are the words disappearing? Are they supposed to do that?"

Peter's parents shared another inscrutable look, less pity and more panic, but still a whole bunch of sadness. They watched together as the words completely faded from Peter's arm, disappearing completely.

The kitchen was filled with silence for a long moment, Peter looking between his parent's faces, trying to read something from their expressions to make this better. Peter's mom eventually came over and wrapped Peter in a hug, "Sweetie, I'm so sorry. We really thought that… that your soulmate was alive." Peter felt his heart stop in his chest, tears welling in his eyes. Peter's mom swallowed harshly before continuing, "We're really sorry. When someone writes words on their skin and it disappears, that means that their soulmate has passed on." When she looked at Peter's face and saw confusion mixed in with the tears, she elaborated, "Peter, your soulmate is dead."

They never did find out why Peter's mark hadn't turned black. No doctor or specialist or scientist could figure it out. It was an anomaly that no one could explain. After a while, Peter learned to hide it. He kept the mark hidden as best he could and would never say a single thing about his soulmate or lack thereof to anyone.

Well, mostly everyone. Ned became more than the only other nerd at school to his best friend and his partner in crime. May and Ben became his caretakers when his parents died. Those three and Peter's parents were the only ones who knew the truth about his soulmate.

There were others who would pry. Flash tried to use Peter's soul bond against him, mocking him and saying that Peter was ashamed of the person he was soul bonded with, mocking the person without even knowing them. It was normally considered taboo to use someone's soul bond against them, but Flash never really played by the rules.

In the end, it didn't really matter. Life didn't stop because his soulmate was dead. And there were plenty of people out there who had dead soulmates and were still successful and found love with other people who had dead soulmates. It was fine. He was fine. He didn't need all the things that everyone else had. He didn't need parents or an uncle or a soulmate or money. He had the memories of the people he'd lost, and he had May and Ned and he had the words written across his skin and he had dumpsters where people threw out perfectly good things. He was fine.

PPPPPP

The battle at the airport was  _awesome_. It was super cool and amazing and made him feel successful. Mr. Stark had chosen  _him_  to help him fight these people. These people were wrong, and they were dangerous, and they were going to do something really bad. And  _Peter_  had been chosen to fight them and protect the world from them. It was an honor. It was a tribute to Ben and his sacrifice.

The battle had been intense. There were a lot of people on both sides and it was kind of hard to keep track. Plus, he kept being super awkward. Mind, he was definitely used to being awkward because, well, because he was super nerd Peter Parker. So, it shouldn't really be all that bad that he was being awkward. But he'd really wanted to impress these people. They were his heroes. The stories of their exploits had gotten him through his life so far. Everything that happened in his life was made easier by comparing it to the horrible experiences that each of these heroes had to go through.

Now he was being awkward and making a fool of himself in front of all of these people who had helped him through so much, made his life so much better. It kind of sucked.

Admittedly, the whole experience was still pretty cool. He put himself against these heroes and he actually did pretty well. Sure, they normally ended up getting the better hand of him, but he stopped them from causing too much damage.

Then,  _then_  he kicked  _Captain America_  in the  _face_. He felt his inner fanboy die a little bit. Like, no way. That just happened. He  _kicked Captain America in the face_. Admittedly, Captain America gave it back just as good as Peter gave it. Captain America kicked his butt and then dropped a truck on him.

He was pretty sure that the personification of America had a conversation with Peter while the teen was holding up the truck, but he had zero recollection of what he said, or what happened. Blinking and swallowing the shock the coursed through his body, he focused on the feeling spreading through his body from a focal point right at the bottom of his neck.

His soul mark had filled in.

His  _soul mark_  had  _filled in_.

Peter was immediately hit with the awful realization that he had just soul bonded with Captain America. Captain America who was the embodiment of all that was pure and perfect and who Spiderman was currently fighting against. This was so, so wrong. He was soul bonded with the enemy.

Captain America must have touched him right there during the fight. And he hadn't even responded. Hadn't reacted at all to a soul bonding. A soul bonding when he was supposed to be dead. Peter's soulmate was supposed to be dead. This wasn't… this wasn't right. It wasn't okay. Did Captain America simply not care that he was now fighting his soulmate?

The rest of the fight passed without a single second of acknowledgement, without even a moment of eye contact.

In the end, Peter didn't tell anyone. Who would he tell? There were only three people he would have been able to tell. Peter couldn't tell Tony Stark because there was no way he'd be okay with the idea that Peter had soul bonded with the enemy. Peter couldn't tell May because she didn't know he was Spiderman and he couldn't do that to her, couldn't really explain the situation. Peter couldn't tell Ned because he didn't need that information overload, didn't need the stress of his best friend being soul bonded to a war criminal.

Thankfully, Peter didn't have to stress about it alone. It wasn't long until Captain America contacted him, words softly scratching across his skin right at the back of his hand (the same hand that had a comment about his best friend dying and Peter couldn't think of anything by the Winter Soldier's blank expression and metal arm),  _Hey, we soul bonded not that long ago. I think it was at that fight at the airport. It was good to finally meet you, even if I'm not entirely certain which one of the people I fought was you_.

Well, that was awkward. Captain America hadn't even noticed. He hadn't realized that he had been soul bonded. That's why he hadn't said anything during the fight, why he hadn't outwardly reacted. How did someone even manage that?  _How_  do you  _not_  realize you're being soul bonded?

Wait. Oh god, Peter had  _kicked his soulmate in the face_. He was such a colossal mess. Why did he always manage to get into situation like this?  _Why_?

He took a moment to bury his face in his hands and just breath for a moment. It was okay. It was fine. He was fine. It was  _okay_. He just needed to take a second to breath in and let everything sink in. Captain America could wait a minute or so. He'd been waiting for decades by now. A few more minutes wouldn't matter.

Okay, okay. Look over this rationally. Don't let emotions take over. Okay, Peter could do that. What had happened? Make a list. He could do that. He was good with lists. Here is was:

He was soul bonded to Captain America.

His soul bond had colored in with deep reds, the outline a dark-hued blue that bordered on black.

There was no way he could possibly hide this from his Aunt, so he needed a cover story.

His soulmate was an international war criminal.

He had fought his soulmate and tried to do anything to stop him from getting what he wanted.

Soulmates are typically matched on a lot of things, but especially on morals. It was what made criminal soulmate matches so dangerous.

His soulmate dropped a truck on him and kicked him in the face.

Peter kicked his soulmate in the face.

No one knew that he had been soul bonded, and they especially didn't know that it was with Captain America.

There was a pretty impressive age gap between the two.

There, a list. Lists make everything better. He could deal with all of that. So what if his soul bond was with Captain America, an international war criminal? It wasn't like the soul bond would let either of them could give information about their whereabouts, so that wouldn't really matter. And Captain America didn't even know who Peter really was, couldn't know until they finally met. That took care of #1 and #4. His soul bond was filled with colors that were easily visible against his pale skin, so he really couldn't hide it from May. Well, it wouldn't be too hard. All he'd have to say was that he was going through a public transportation terminal on the way to somewhere and was getting off when he felt it. By the time he turned around, there was no one there. Something like that. He'd say that he and his soulmate were trying to work it out over their skin. That wasn't entirely false. Just a bunch of half-lies. He hated lying to May, but he couldn't let her worry about the whole Spiderman thing. He couldn't. There. That took care of #2 and #3.

#7 and #8 kind of evened out because they did it to each other. Well, Peter didn't drop a truck on Captain America, but he did steal his shield, so… close enough? #5 and #6 kind of went together. Peter had the feeling that he hadn't gotten the full story from Mr. Stark (not that he got much of a story at all from Mr. Stark; he'd kind of been shoved into a plane and pushed at the airport and told not to get hurt too much) and that there was some sort of confusion there that caused #5 and #6. He'd have to ask Captain America about it, clear the air.

Peter would have to just deal with #9. He couldn't tell anyone. No one needed that burden to think about. It would be his secret. Maybe, someday, if someone found out that Peter was Spiderman, then he'd confide in them, explaining the situation. As it was, there were a lot of conversations that Peter was going to have to cover up from certain people. They were kind of incriminating if you knew pretty much any info. And Mr. Stark's constant info drops made sure that everyone knew all the info. The whole world now knew that Bucky Barnes, aka the Winter Soldier, had killed Mr. Stark's parents.

#10 was a little harder to compartmentalize. Peter wasn't really into the whole age gap thing. Obviously, he was going to try to love his soulmate because the universe had decided that the two of them were the perfect match, but still. It was kind of weird. He wasn't entirely sure what to think about the situation at the moment. That one would require more thought, maybe later when they had gotten to know each other better.

List figured out, Peter set a pen to the back of his hand with a much clearer mind,  _Yes! I saw you! You're Captain America! Or, uh, Steve Rogers, I guess. Um, yeah. Your name. Soulmates should definitely call each other by their names and not, like, their superhero names. Yeah. That. Um, still. The bond isn't really letting me tell you who I am? But, we can definitely try hints! I think I have a hint that can get you to guess who I am. I like arachnids. There, does that help? Sorry, I've got awful handwriting and I'm writing all over the back of your hand where people will see all the time and it looks horrible. And I'm rambling, so it's super long. I ramble a lot. Sorry. I say sorry a lot too. I'm kind of a mess, actually. I've never really done this before, so? Sorry!_

God, he was such a mess. He hadn't even realized he could be that ineloquent. He was such an awkward taco. There was no salvaging that catastrophe, honestly.

But then Captain – Steve – was writing back and saying that his rambling was cute and that he recognized him and that he was worried about Peter and it just. It melted Peter's heart. His response back was a little less awkward. All of his subsequent responses became less and less awkward as he started to relax. Conversation between the two of them just flowed so easily. It was like breathing. Peter could see why the universe would put them together.

It was the happiest Peter had been for a long,  _long_  time.

PPPPPP

Peter and his soulmate had been talking regularly for almost two years. Peter had been tracking the process of the other half of the Avengers as often as he could. It was hard to get a handle on what they were doing, but Peter could make connections between world events and things that Steve would write to figure out kind of what was happening in the older man's life. He was just happy to see that Steve was still working to save the world and that he was still alive and well.

At some point relatively soon after the whole Vulture fiasco, he'd had to tell Ned about it, confiding that Captain America was his soulmate and that they'd been talking regularly. Ned had taken it well, other than several long rants and a ton of overly personal questions that Peter mostly stuttered and blushed his way through. It was nice having Ned on board – with everything, the soulmate thing and the Spider thing. Ned was his best friend and it had been hard trying to keep all those secrets from him. Eventually, he'd broken and told May too. She was always worried about his thing as Spiderman and he'd overheard her muttering about those nasty former Avengers and he'd been too scared to tell her.

She took it a little less well than Ned, but she was never mean about it. She totally supported the whole thing, but she couldn't help but be worried for him and constantly concerned. It worked out, though, even if Ned and May asked way too many questions about Captain America. Peter swore that they teamed up on him.

Most of the time, Peter and Steve contacted each other once at day at the very least. Sometimes they'd have tiny conversations that spanned hours, but other times there would be a word or a smiley face (mainly from Peter, but he'd started getting Steve to do it too) as a way to just check in.

The first time the pattern had broken was when Peter ended up in space. He was a little too busy being, well, in  _space_  to really focus on his soulmate. He lost himself in the situation, just moving from problem to problem and trying to stay with the rest of the heroes. It was kind of awe-inspiring to be in the midst of all these great figures, even if Mr. Stark found a way to fight with pretty much every single one. It was kind of impressive how many things Mr. Stark found to argue with people about. Mr. Stark and Peter had kind of been on the outs after the whole Civil War incident where Peter felt like he had been manipulated.

Then none of that mattered because everything was going wrong and Thanos was  _there_  and then, and then. Then everyone was dying. People crumbled to ash all around him. Terrified, Peter clung to Tony's suit, eyes wide and scared, voice stuttered as he pleaded, "Please. I don't want to go. I don't want to go."

Shaking, Peter caught sight of a rip just along his index finger. He saw the words that Steve wrote when he thought he was going to die.

As he felt himself slowly (ever so slowly which was weird because everyone else dissolved so fast, but he didn't want to dissolve fast at all) falling to pieces, he split open his suit, taking a pen that he always kept on him and writing around where he knew Steve's soul mark was. He quickly scribbled in the words,  _I'm sorry. I know I say that a lot, but I really mean it this time. I'm dying, Steve. I'm dying, and I don't want to go. I want to go home and meet you for real this time, and I want to introduce you to my aunt. We'd go on that romantic dinner you always talk about and then we'd kiss goodnight and it would be so sweet and perfect and we'd spend the rest of our lives together. I'm sorry we can't do that. I'm sorry that I'm doing this to you. I'm so, so sorry. I love you._

Mr. Stark watched him the whole time, strong arms keeping Peter upright as one side started to crumble. Mr. Stark was desperately shaking his head, muttering, "Kid. Hang on, kid."

Peter let a tear slip out and whispered, "I don't want to go. I don't want to. I'm sorry.  _I'm sorry_."

His had one last thought before he died.

He wished Steve had known his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm going to go make this a series. There was the chapter from Steve's POV and then I'm going to write this chapter from Peter's POV (pretty much the same scene, but different POV). After these two, I'm going to write just some other chapters that involve little conversations between them in the moments between the airport and the scene of Peter's death. I'll keep writing those little scenes until I write the finale fix-it chapter based on whatever Marvel does to fix what they've done.


	3. Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that, until stated, the chapters that I post will be about the time between Steve and Peter realizing they're soulmates and the time Peter dies. I'm always open to suggestions on conversation topics between the two of them.

SSSSSS

_Hey, so this is super lame, and I totally understand if you don’t want to answer, but I was kind of wondering because I’m weird like that. Um, yeah, so I was looking at conversation starters and this one said, “If you could have a superpower, what would it be?” And, like, I know we have superpowers already and all that, but I was kind of thinking that we didn’t really have a choice about it. I mean, you kind of did, but not really? You didn’t pick what superpowers you got, you just chose to get superpowers. Anyways! If you didn’t have superpowers and could get any superpowers other than the one you currently have, which one would it be?_

Steve blinked at his arm as writing continued scrolling down it. He read the words as they were written, lips curling into a little smile. He reached behind him as he read, fingers grasping for a pen, deftly taking the top off and holding it ready to answer once Spiderman finished ranting. Not that he was really all that anxious for Spiderman to stop ranting since it was essentially one of the cutest things Steve has ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

Natasha snorted into her soup, hiding her face behind the bowl as she brought it to her lips and started drinking. Steve glared at her, but it was underscored by Wanda’s raised eyebrows and Sam’s knowing smirk. Steve rolled his eyes, “What?”

“Oh nothing. I just think it’s cute that your soulmate is such a talker. I mean, that’s quite the conversation starter there.” Natasha said slyly, smiling into her soup again.

Wanda took a bite of his bread unapologetically, “It’s adorable.”

“Nah,” Sam added, “What’s adorable is how flustered Steve’s getting about it. Look how red-faced he’s getting.”

“Really funny guys. Hilarious.” Steve announced deadpan, formulating his answer in his head now that Peter had stopped writing his portion.

Sam craned over to read the messy, scribbled writing. He muffled a laugh against his hand and asked incredulously, “Spiderman wants to know what Captain America would like if he could have any superpower? Does he realize the problem with that question, or…?”

Steve scrunched his shoulders in defensively as Natasha and Wanda turned twin incredulous stares onto him. He answered firmly, “If you’d kept reading, you’d realize that he realized that. He’s asking what power I would have if I’d gotten to choose what power I wanted. I think it’s a sweet conversation starter. Besides, he’s a nerd. He’s probably got a response formulated about this already.” Steve couldn’t help the dorky smile that overtook his expression at the admission.

Natasha rolled her eyes, “This got too sappy. It’s gross now instead of entertaining.”

Steve raised his eyebrows at her, “You’re the one who started it. I blame you entirely for this.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t say anything. He grinned unrepentantly at her and turned his attention back to the writing that had paused, waiting for his response.

Carefully, Steve started writing, _I think the power I would want would be flight. I’m not sure if I’d want wings like that one mutant that I’ve been seeing on TV, but just the ability to fly. That would be nice._

Spiderman started writing back immediately, _Really? That’s so neat! Someday, when we meet up, I’ll take you flying. I mean, it’s not really flying. More like swinging? I’ll take you swinging. In my opinion, it’s better than flying. More of an adrenaline rush. There’s like, this moment. You’re swinging on the web, flipping through the air and the swing runs out. You know you have to shoot another web. You aim, and you shoot, and you hope that you’ve hit the right spot with the right angle on the next building because by then, your original web has given out. There’s this moment of free fall where you don’t know if you’re going to be caught. But I always catch myself. Well, not always. Most of the time. I’d catch you._

Steve originally stifled laughter against his palm as he started reading, amused by Spiderman’s insistence that swinging was better. That amusement turned fond and wistful as Spiderman talked about what they were going to do when they finally met again. It was obvious that Spiderman was really passionate about this, about swinging through the city and free falling with only the assurance of his own skill to save him. The fondness and wistfulness switched to almost unbearable love as he read the last line. He had to blink for a moment, lightly touching the words. The others didn’t pry; they knew how hard it was for him to be separated from his soulmate, to not even know his _name_.

Getting ahold of himself, Steve wrote carefully, _I’m sure you would. I look forward to swinging through New York with you someday. But, for today, what superpower would you have?_

 _You know that Mystique chick? The one’s who goes against the X-men? She’s got this power where she can change herself to look like literally anyone. She can even make her skin into clothes and jewelry and stuff. Which, I mean, means that she’s essentially naked all the time and when she’s not looking like other people, she’s blue or something and that would kind of suck because people don’t like people who are different, but I would like to be able to change my appearance into other people’s. Could you imagine? I’m watching this drug ring and the leader steps out to go to the bathroom. Next thing they know, I’m popping in, looking just like him. I take them down from the inside. Awesome._ Spiderman wrote quickly, handwriting still as scrawled and jagged as always.

Smiling, Steve agreed, _Awesome_.

 _So, uh, thanks. For indulging in my stupid question._ Spiderman wrote hesitantly, words scratching their way across Steve’s skin almost shyly.

Rolling his eyes, Steve responded fondly, _It wasn’t stupid. I actually liked it. No one’s ever asked me that before even though it’s basically a rite of passage to be asked that question. I never ever really thought about it before you asked._

There was a pause before, _Oh_ , Spiderman wrote, _That’s cool! I’m glad you liked it. Hey, I’ve actually got to go. Homework and dinner are both calling, so… Talk to you later!_

 _Bye Spiderman,_ Steve wrote back fondly, replacing the cap of his pen and putting it back behind him.

His team was smirking at him again.


	4. Peter

PPPPPP

            Peter really wasn’t a fan of lit class. Like, there was nothing wrong with it in theory. He just… didn’t like it. Probably the amount of homework, honestly. And the lack of applicability to his nighttime vigilante career. Both of those things probably affected his opinion of the class. And the books. The books were not not-good. They were just kind of… boring. They were boring. No action! Barely any romance and most of the romance was weird and disturbing, like in Frankenstein. There was some creepy incest going on. At least in the original version, Victor and Elizabeth had been cousins. Maybe in the version Peter had to read in class it wasn’t like that, but they still creepily called each other cousin and grew up together and just, bleh. Weird, creepy romance.

                So, that was why Peter was writing to Steve instead of actually paying attention in class. He idly wrote out, _Did you know that_ Frankenstein _was considered the first science fiction novel? Wait, did you even have to read_ Frankenstein _in high school?_

There was no immediate response and Peter slumped. The start of their relationship had been kind of crazy and it really hadn’t calmed down since then. Steve was still a wanted criminal and Peter was still an extralegal vigilante. Steve still didn’t know Peter’s name and they could still only contact each other over their skin. It was crazy. It was insane. Peter loved every moment of it.

            Sure, there were moments when he _ached_ with the need to talk to Steve, to see him and interact with him and just _be in his presence_ , but he understood that it couldn’t happen. It would happen eventually, but not yet. There was too much going on in the world for it to happen any time soon. But eventually. He just had to wait.

            Smile curling up slightly, Peter’s hand reached down to brush his side, fingertips meeting the spot that held his colored in soul mark. He loved it so much. Touching it felt like he was reaching through their bond and holding hands with Steve, despite the fact that he’d never done it and therefore didn’t actually know what that felt like.

            Peter sighed, fingers pressing a little more insistently against the spot, chasing the feeling as a way to chase away the loneliness. It took the teacher three attempts to get his attention. She finally snapped, “ _Peter Parker!_ ”

            His head whipped up, cheeks heating in shame as he bashfully put a hand behind his head and scratched at his neck, “Ha, sorry. Um, what was it you wanted?”

            The class snickered around him, cruel words and looks being thrown around him. The teacher ignored it like usual, muttering to herself before addressing him, “I was _asking_ whether you think Mary Shelley wanted us to feel sympathetic towards the monster or not?”

            Um, what? How was _Peter_ wasn’t supposed to know? He’d never met the chick before. Sighing, he squinted and thought back through the novel. He wrinkled his nose and answered, “I think she wanted us to feel sympathetic towards everyone? Like, she wanted us to hate the monster and be disgusted by him, but also be sympathetic? Because if we’re sympathetic, then we can put ourselves into it’s shoes, into _every_ character’s shoes. That way we can learn the lesson better?”

            The teacher glanced down her nose at him, but eventually nodded and moved onto another student.

            The sad thing was, Peter actually really liked this teacher. She just didn’t appreciate students not paying attention and Peter never really payed attention because he didn’t like the class. It was kind of a vicious cycle, honestly.

            Ned leaned over as soon as the teacher looked away, “What were you doing? Working on some more _you know_ stuff? Stuff that your guy in the chair could help with?” His eyes sparkled with interest, but Peter winced and just tapped his skin lightly, hitting a spot that was covered in black ink. Ned nodded back in understanding, looking slightly put out. He and his soulmate had steady communication, but they hadn’t met yet. It made Peter feel bad about complaining about his own soulmate situation. At least he knew who his was. He might not know _where_ Steve was or how injured he was or what he was doing or _how_ he was, but he did know _who_ he was. That had to be good enough.

            Luckily, the rest of the class passed without incident and Peter was able to escape to the next class without much of a glare from the teacher. His next class was physics and was _a lot_ more enjoyable. Well, maybe not _a lot_. The teacher still didn’t really approve of students not paying attention. Sure, Peter paid a lot more attention in this class, but not nearly as much as he should. He was always thinking about other things.

            Speaking of which, as soon as Peter settled down in his chair, he felt Steve’s answer along his skin. He glanced down and read, _Honestly, at this point, I don’t even remember what I read in high school. I think I read_ Frankenstein _on my own time. I was always a fan of classics. They had something that other stories just didn’t. I didn’t know it was a sci-fi novel, though._

            _That’s disgusting_ , Peter wrote back, _Why would you read classics in your spare time? That’s lame._

            There was a definite laugh in Steve’s words when he responded, _Oh come on, I bet you’ve never tried to read a classic outside of class. If you tried actually reading one that wasn’t assigned by a teacher and accompanied by a ton of school work, I’m sure you’d like it. Besides, aren’t you in class right now?_

            Peter rolled his eyes and answered, _Yeah, I’m in class. But I know all this stuff. I had to learn it when I was trying to start my vigilante career. I’m super bored. Please don’t stop writing me._

            _I’ll feel guilty writing to you, but I’ll draw something. You can watch me draw it. Give me a second to find something that I want to draw_ , Steve responded easily. One corner of Peter’s lips curled up. He was so cute. And his drawings were _epic_.

            A soft tapping on the side of his desk made Peter’s head whip upwards, blinking slightly at the girl who had tapped his desk. MJ was staring at him with an entirely unemotional expression, but there was something in her eyes that made it seem like she was amused. She turned her sketchbook towards Peter, showing a picture of him being yelled at by the physics teacher for not participating.

            Blushing and ducking his head, Peter gave her a thumbs-up to show that he understood. Sighing, he regretfully turned his attention away from his hand and towards the teacher. Despite the fact that he already knew the basic physics, it was still kind of fascinating to learn more applications to the basic knowledge. He could always take _something_ away from the lesson.

            The teacher always had a set schedule: teach the concept, display the uses, and then make students go to the board and solve problems. He would always pick their names out of a little cup and Peter, fantastically enough, was the first name called. Trying to contain his sigh, Peter slumped towards the front of the room, accepting the marker and facing the board. Of course, his was a super complicated problem. Peter swore that the teacher gave him those just because he knew that Peter was the only one who could do them. It didn’t mean that they weren’t still hard.

            Peter focused in on the problem, squinting at the board and putting all of his effort into figuring it out. That’s probably why it took him a second or two to realize that his class was gasping behind him.

            Stopping abruptly, Peter glanced at their surprised features. His own eyes widened, and he glanced at his hand to make sure that none of his Spider-suit or whatever was showing. That would be so bad. Mr. Stark and May would both kill him. Happy too, probably, just for the fun of it.

            It wasn’t the Spider-suit, but it wasn’t nothing either. Curling delicately over the back of his thumb and the area below it was an intricate spider’s web in the shape of a heart, a small spider hanging carefully from it. It was beautifully drawn and looked like it belonged on an album cover or something, but it was also drawing itself on his hand in front of the entire class.           

            Obviously, people understood that there were going to be moments where they would see someone’s soulmate writing to them on their skin. It was a fact of life that people were going to see that happen. It didn’t mean that it wasn’t still awkward and slightly embarrassing, especially when it was something as personal as this. A drawing from a soulmate? That was dedication and it was sweet, and it was something that was typically private between soulmates.

            Peter blushed again, heat rising to his cheeks as he awkwardly tried to pull his sleeve up over his thumb. Coughing slightly, Peter spoke rapidly, “Um, yeah. That’s, uh, my soulmate. He was drawing something for me. So he didn’t distract me. From class. So he didn’t distract me from class. Earlier. He draws. A lot. He’s kind of sweet like that. And he’s a really good artist. And – yeah. Um. That.” He wanted to crawl in a hole and die. The rest of the class were staring at him in confusion now, obviously bamboozled by his little impromptu speech. Peter promptly ignored them and went back to the problem on the board, still blushing furiously.

            He finished the problem and high-tailed it back to his seat, ducking his head and doing his best to become one with the floor. Sometimes he wished that was his superpower instead of the whole spider-stuff. His life would be golden if he could merge with the floor on a regular basis.

            Sighing, Peter gave in to the fact that it happened and was awkward and he made it more awkward by being an awkward turtle. There was no changing that. He idly scribbled a little heart next to the intricate drawing Steve had given him. After another moment of consideration, he wrote carefully, _I was actually writing the answer to a problem on the board when you sent that. Everyone was kind of, surprised, I guess? And it was awkward, but then I opened my big mouth and made it extra awkward. I somehow manage to do that all the time. But the drawing was beautiful! It might actually be my favorite, so, thanks._

            Steve’s answer was almost immediate, _I’m glad you liked it! I’ll try to find more like it. You know, a friend of mine tells me that being awkward like that all the time because you’re actually a sweetheart is what gets you designated as a ‘cinnamon roll’ or something like that. So, apparently you’re a cinnamon roll. How does that make you feel?_

             He was obviously teasing Peter. It helped, though. Peter could feel the tension easing out of him as his lips curled into a little smile and he wrote back, _As long as I’m your cinnamon roll, I have no problem with it_. Ugh, that was actually not what he’d been planning to write. That was overly cheesy. Super lame. Peter was such a loser.

            Steve’s response was quick again, _I thought I was supposed to be the old-fashioned, cheesy one? But I must say, you do it quite well_.

            It was amazing how quickly Steve could wash away any lingering self-doubts Peter had. He was quickly becoming more confident and sure of himself with each conversation he and his soulmate had. He wasn’t sure if that was common between soulmates or if Steve really was just that perfect. Peter personally thought it was the second. With no words to describe that to Steve, Peter just responded, _I love you_.

            There was a slight pause after that, Peter obviously having taken Steve by surprise. They hadn’t really said it to each other before. Soulmates typically did love each other, but they still progressed like a normal relationship. There were still boundaries and learning curves and bumps in the road. Saying those three words were just as important. Steve’s response felt heavier than usual, the writing thicker and darker when he responded, _I love you too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to luxcurious for suggesting this!


	5. Steve

SSSSSS

Steve was kind of… well, nervous. He'd never admit it. Ever. For any reason. But, yeah. He was nervous. The other day, Spiderman had told him that he loved him, and Steve had said it back and, maybe, Steve wanted to learn a little bit more about some more  _serious_ topics. Was that really so bad?

No, no it wasn't. It was perfectly normal that Steve wanted to ask these questions. Spiderman might get initially flustered just because that seemed to be his natural state of being, but that was okay. Steve had learned to get through a whole lot of awkward from their conversations so far. He could get through this.

Then again, maybe he didn't need to. He could just wait until they knew each other a little bit more to ask this kind of question. Steve could avoid the awkward written flailing and Spiderman could avoid the flustered state of being. It really wouldn't be a hardship to know this later on in their relationship instead of now. Not knowing this wouldn't affect their relationship at all. They had plenty of time before they even needed to start thinking about this. Steve didn't even know Spiderman's name! This was too much, too soon.

Or was it?

Steve shook his head and sighed, rubbing roughly at his forehead. This was ridiculous. He was a veteran of a World War and he had been an Avenger. He'd fought aliens and watched an entire city fall from the sky. He was better than this. He shouldn't be afraid of asking a single question. Honestly, what was he thinking? Getting all freaked out about this? He was being ridiculous.

Before he had a chance to talk himself out of it again, Steve put a pen against his skin and wrote,  _What do you think about having children?_  There. He'd done it. Steve read the words again. That sounded awkward. It sounded like he was asking Spiderman to have babies with him. That wasn't even biologically possible. It also sounded like he was talking about a  _soon_  kind of thing. Blushing even though no one could actually see him, Steve added a line underneath his first,  _I mean, later. Like, adopting or going through a surrogate or something. At some point. What is your stance on the idea of children and the number of children in general? And pets, too. What is your stance on pets?_

Spiderman's response was quicker than Steve had been expecting considering the kid was supposed to be sleeping if Steve's mental calculation of the time in New York at the moment. Spiderman's sounded fond and amused when he responded,  _You seem to have caught my usual word vomit. I normally only get that like that when I'm second guessing asking you something. Is this really that important to you?_

Sometimes, Spiderman was the most oblivious person Steve knew. And that was saying something, that he could figure that out from half a world away and only through written interactions. Other times, Spiderman surprised him with his intuition. Steve knew that the vigilante was intelligent, had started conversations with him that had quickly gone right over his head the moment Spiderman started talking about anything even remotely scientific. Still, he hadn't really expected Spiderman to pick up on the idea that this was something that was important to Steve.

Swallowing, Steve considered how to answer the question,  _Yeah, it is. I don't want to pressure you or make you answer now. The answer doesn't matter, either. I'm fine with whatever you say, but I just wanted to know._

 _There's more to it,_  Spiderman insisted, still not answering the question. Steve sighed; all he'd wanted was for his question to be answered, not to have to go through a Q and A question of his own.

Rubbing his forehead again with increasing strength, Steve struggled to find the words,  _It's just – I guess… My mother always wanted grandchildren. I know she's not here anymore, that she hasn't been for a while, but that doesn't mean that I don't still want that. I know you're still a kid yourself and there's a whole lot of stuff that would need to be figured out, but… I don't know. I guess, I want to know what you think, how you feel about this kind of stuff. In my time, everything was about the war. It was about winning the war and fighting the war and building for the war. I gave up everything for the war. I let myself be subjected to an experimental substance. I threw myself into danger. I gave up years of my life. I flew my plane into the ocean, all for the war. And we were always told that we should win the war in our generation so our children and our children's children could be free. And that always stuck with me. Are people free now? We've had more wars. We're still fighting wars. Do people still fight wars not for themselves, but for the next generation? Sorry, this probably doesn't make much sense. It barely makes sense to me._

There was a long pause, longer than it should have taken for Spiderman to read the words and formulate a response. Steve shifted nervously. Had he said too much? Overshared? Spiderman had asked, hadn't he? Didn't Steve do the right thing by baring his soul? Or was he really that confusing that Spiderman genuinely didn't know how to answer? He really,  _really_  shouldn't have asked the stupid question.

When Spiderman's response finally came, it didn't seem to end,  _Thank you for telling me that! And don't worry, I understood. Think about who you're talking to. I'm basically the king of awkward, confused, half-thought-out rants! I think that people still fight wars for the next generation. There's always the thought of protecting those they left behind. Protecting their loved ones, their country, so it can continue on. Protecting their legacy, I guess. There's a lot of different kinds of wars that are being fought right now. I think each person fights each individual war for different reasons. And, to finally answer your question, yes, I would like kids. Probably go through a surrogate for one or two and then adopt a ton more. I think we would make great adoptive parents. And a ton of pets, too. I really want a golden retriever! Also, a tarantula! I know that's super lame and cliché, but I feel like I should pay homage to my creators, too. Then again, thinking on it, I don't think I'd want a golden retriever. I think it'd remind me too much of you. We don't need two of you and you're basically a giant golden retriever. So, yes to kids. Yes to adoption. Yes to surrogate. A lot as to amount. Yes to pets. Did I cover everything?_

 _You're rather put together tonight. Other than the golden retriever comments_ , Steve wrote back before adding,  _And yes, you covered everything_.

 _Yes! And yeah, I'm staying awake through a mixture of pure determination, love for our conversations, a ton of coffee, and a couple of Red Bulls. I've got to finish this stakeout, but I had to stay up until almost four the night before because there were a lot of crazies out last night. Like, yikes. Anyways, when I'm sleep-deprived, I enter a sort of 'wisdom-mode' as my best friend puts it. That's what just happened_ , Spiderman responded quickly.

Now that Steve was looking, the handwriting was a little shaky and rushed. He shook his head fondly,  _I'm going to stop distracting you now and hope that you get some sort of sleep in the next couple of days. Try to sleep a little? And not during class? Please? For me?_

 _Anything for you, Steve. Love you!_  Spiderman threw back easily, the words coming out as smoothly as if they'd been saying them to each other from the day their were born.

Steve wrote back quickly,  _Love you too_.

He put down his pen and read over the conversation again. He was lucky to have someone who could understand him so well and who agreed with his ideals and hopes for the future. Then again, he actually kind of wanted a golden retriever. They'd have to talk about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to hchollym for suggesting this one!


	6. Peter

PPPPPP

Peter was breathing hard, trying to keep himself from crying. He swept through the empty neighborhood of broken down warehouses, finding his favorite one. It was in an extra abandoned area, a building so desolate and broken down that no one dared step inside it. With as decrepit and dangerous as the building was, the only one who could safely navigate the area was someone with his Spider sense and ability to stick to walls and his balance. Which seemed to disappear when he wasn't wearing the mask. The same way his confidence disappeared. The same way his ability to be anywhere close to a legitimately okay human being disappeared when he wasn't wearing the mask.

Biting out a sob, Peter crawled up the walls, taking a meandering path across it and the ceiling, trying to avoid the spots of mold and the jagged bursts of metal and concrete. He settled in his favorite corner, the one he always came to when he was particularly upset, when the enhanced senses started to get overwhelming. It was dark and up on the ceiling and he felt like the walls were closed into that one spot just to protect him. It was his safe spot.

He sat in that safe spot and sobbed.

Today really hadn't been his day. It was actually probably the worst day he had experienced in a really long time.

Getting to school late was just the start of a phenomenally horrible day. He'd woken up late after three practically sleepless nights in a row dealing with huge projects, academic decathlon things, and a sudden rise in criminal activity. May was out of town with some of her old college friends, so there had been no one to check on him when he didn't get up at the normal time. In his rush, he'd had to skip breakfast, barely managing to get his clothes on straight before he'd scrambled out the door. The bus was gone, so he'd suited up, webbing across the city as fast as he could. That meant that when he finally got to school (over an hour late), he had mask head and his clothes were rumpled and wrinkled. He looked like the colossal mess that he was.

School had been awful. Ned and MJ were  _both_  out sick from the flu that was making its way through the student body (thank goodness for the spider bite there) so Peter had no one to keep him company through the boring litany of classes. Flash, already intolerable, was made worse by his insistence at running decathlon practice and his irritability at the flu that had gotten to him and the fact that his father wouldn't let him miss school to rest.

Peter had thought that he'd finally found a bright spot when he saw Happy waiting for him on his path home from school. That turned out to be icing on the trash cake.

Happy was irritable because Mr. Stark was irritable and that meant that, after several super awkward failed attempts at conversation, Peter and Happy spent the ride in silence. Peter really didn't enjoy being awkward and he knew that it made other people uncomfortable, but if they at least pretended to play along, it helped the conversation flow a little easier. Peter  _knew_  he was annoying and that he easily got on people's nerves and that he was a complete, flaming mess at all times of the day and that no one wanted to deal with that, but it would be nice to have a little support, a moment of praise or a second of acknowledgement. But apparently he wasn't even worth that much.

Mr. Stark had wanted to lecture Peter. Apparently, Peter was too visible, too reckless. Apparently, he had gotten caught by a video camera outside a store taking his mask off, and Mr. Stark had been forced to intervene. He'd had to wipe the camera and deal with the problem. That meant that he was upset because he just became implemented in whatever it was the Peter had going on.

Peter, snapping, had taken the moment to call Mr. Stark out, asking him why he let Peter get away with not signing the Accords when he'd torn apart his own team for them. That had led into a screaming match that was entirely Mr. Stark screaming and partially Peter cowering. Pepper had come in and started yelling at Mr. Stark for yelling at Peter and, when Peter hesitantly tried to tell them to stop fighting over him, Pepper had stormed off, leaving him without his support and with an even angrier Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark had clenched his jaw and said, deadly quiet, that Peter should get out of his sight, so Peter had scampered out of the place, tears building in his eyes. He hadn't found Happy and he wasn't sure that he would have wanted to see anyone, especially the burly driver, at that moment.

\ That was what found him in that building, sobbing in a small corner like the scared little boy that he was. He couldn't even handle his secret identity and then he went and made problems for a couple and Mr. Stark was disappointed in him because  _he couldn't do anything right_.

Peter's eyes blurred with the tears and his usual iron-tight control on his senses slipped, letting in a cacophony of sounds and smells that all mixed together to feel something like death to Peter. Gasping, he tried to regain control of his senses, to find some sort of peace that would allow him to stop hearing  _everything_ , smelling  _everything_ , seeing  _everything_ , but he couldn't focus, couldn't get his senses under control, couldn't do  _anything_ , why was he so  _stupid_?

Dully, Peter felt a spot next to neck shiver, a slight, supernatural pressure against the skin there, his soul mark tingling. Swallowing another sob, Peter dipped his fingers underneath the collar of his shirt, tracing the skin there, feeling that comforting feeling of holding hands with Steve.

Swallowing harshly again, Peter kept crying, tears falling out of his eyes as he traced the mark over and over again, trying to draw as much comfort from that as he possibly could. It wasn't enough. This imitation of Steve's touch was just a mockery of his pain at the moment, taunting him and the cruelty of his life. Even when he found his soulmate, he couldn't be with him, couldn't feel the comfort of the other man's skin.

Then again, maybe it was better this way. Peter didn't want to bother Steve with this, with his problems. He didn't want to bother the hero with his stupid mess and his stupidity and his stupid life. These problems were Peter's and he should be able to handle them himself. It wasn't fair to want to drop them all on Steve, to want to curl into the comfort of Steve's arms (not that Peter knew what that felt like because his only interaction with the man had ended with him kicking the man in the face and Steve dropping a truck on him). It wasn't fair to expect a person who was running for his life because he broke a law that was stupid to begin with to deal with his troubles.

Peter still couldn't stop crying.

He couldn't help himself from grabbing a pen from where he always kept it in his front pocket.

He was so  _weak_. He couldn't even do this soulmate this right. He was pitiful. Steve was better off far away from him. This was  _stupid_.  _Peter_  was stupid.

That still didn't stop him from writing shakily,  _Hey, how are you?_

The response took a long, heart-stopping moment to appear,  _Busy. I'll get back to you in a second, okay?_

Peter felt his heart drop out of his chest, felt it break on the ground far below him. What right did he to be upset? He had known this, had known that Steve had bigger problems. He had said himself that it was better to not bother Steve with this. God, he was  _so stupid_. Such an idiot! What was  _wrong_  with him? Idiot, idiot, idiot!

Shuddering, Peter felt the comforting feeling of pen scratching against his skin, Steve writing back to him. Peter thought he'd needed a moment, that he'd not wanted to deal with Peter at the moment. Wasn't that why he'd responded with 'busy?' Carefully, hope dwindling, Peter checked the skin below the beginning of the conversation. Steve had written,  _Hey! I'm good. We were just in a meeting, but it was almost done. How about you? How are you?_

Shakily, Peter let out another sob, body shaking with the motion. Steve was too good for him, way too good. Why would Peter think that Steve should be bothered with Peter's problems? He was too perfect, too wonderful for Peter to corrupt with his own idiosyncrasies and foolish insecurities.

The pause after Steve's answer must have concerned him because he wrote soon after,  _Spidey? You doing okay? What's wrong?_

Weak. Too weak. Stupid, weak, insecure,  _idiot_. The cruel voice in his head didn't stop him from writing quickly, hands still shaking from the sensory overload and the amount of bad emotions running through him,  _I screw everything up. I mess up things for everyone and I can't do anything right. I'm too stupid to do_ anything _correctly and it's just… I hate that I never seem to get any better no matter how many screw-ups I make. I just do it again, and again, and again, and again. I hate it. I hate it so much._

Steve's response was immediate, starting almost before Peter had finished,  _Whoa, whoa. It's okay. We're okay, alright? You do not screw-up. You are definitely not stupid. In my eyes, you do everything right. What brought this on all of a sudden?_

 _What didn't bring it on? I told you, I screw everything up. It was only a matter of time before I did enough stupid things that I decided to make sure you knew how much of a colossal, stupid mess I was_ , Peter wrote back viciously, skin pink and raw where he'd been pressing too hard into the skin. He was still hiccupping out sobs.

Peter could  _hear_  the demand, the order in Steve's tone when he wrote back,  _And I told you: you are not stupid. No more calling yourself that. I'm sure you're just having a bad day. There is absolutely nothing you could do that would make me think that you were any sort of screw-up. You are perfect, and I love you, alright? That's never going to change. Ever. You are perfect, and I love you._

Blinking back his tears, Peter wrote,  _You're just saying that because of the bond! Because you feel guilty! Guess what? You don't know me! You don't know a thing about me! You can't say that I'm not the things I say I am because you've never met me, not really. So, don't go saying all that stuff about me being_ perfect _. I'm not perfect. If I was perfect… I am not perfect._

There was a long pause, Peter breathing hard into the silence of the room. Steve's reply was slow and hesitant. Peter imagined if he was talking, Steve would have sounded low and hurt,  _Spiderman, please don't say that. I know that this situation isn't ideal, but don't say that I only care about you because a mark says I'm supposed to. We've spent a long time talking to each other, getting used to each other, falling in love with each other. That wasn't the mark, that was you. You made me fall in love with you and I don't regret that at all. I might not know everything about you, or even that much about you. I don't know your past, I don't know your life. I do know, however, that you are a massive nerd with more intelligence than my entire team. I know that you ramble when you're nervous, or excited, or confused. I know you want to use a surrogate for some kids and then adopt a ton of others. I know you're a dork who wants a pet tarantula. I know that you care so much, almost too much. I know that you care enough that I'm worried about you sometimes, worried about whether you're going to get home at night. I know that you pile so many things on your plate because you feel guilty if you're not doing something for someone at all times, that you feel wasteful if you're not providing. I know you love easily, but take a lot longer to start to trust someone. I might not know what you feel like. I might not know what you look like. I might not even know your name. But I know that I love you with every fiber in my being. That will_ never _change._

For a long, long time, Peter couldn't respond. His sobs doubled in force, enough to almost send him tumbling out of his makeshift nest. These tears felt cleansing, though. It felt like his heart was breaking and reforming with each word Steve said. Steve just cared  _so much_. He was just such a perfect person and Peter loved him with all of his might, loved the thought of the man, loved the stories he left behind, the pictures he traced into Peter's skin. Peter wrote shakily,  _I just really want to hug you right now. I just really, really want to be with you. So much._

There was so much hurt, so much passion and heartbreak and weary sadness when Steve responded,  _I know, buddy, I know. I wish more than anything that we could be together, too. You don't know how much I want to pull you into my arms and just hold you. I want to be there to comfort you and protect you, but I can't. I can't and I'm so, so sorry._

 _Never be sorry for being who you are,_  Peter wrote back, horrified that Steve could think that any of this was his fault. It was just his Parker luck that his soulmate situation worked out this way.

Steve's response made him hiccup out a watery laugh,  _Hey, you can't say that to me after I just spent all that time trying to convince you of the same thing!_

The conversation petered off. Peter fingered his mark again, imagining wistfully that, wherever Steve was, he was doing the same thing, imagining that he could feel Steve's touch through the mark. His heart hurt at the thought.

Suddenly, there were more words forming,  _Do they still have that exhibit about me at the museum?_

Confused, but starting to get a dawning realization of what Steve was going for, Peter wrote back,  _Pretty sure. Actually, yeah, I'm certain. I remember swinging by a sign for it the other day._

Steve's answer was firm,  _If the museum is still open, go over there now. I know it's nothing like the real deal, but it's something. Whenever you're upset, go sit in the museum exhibit. It's as close as you can get to me in the situation we're in. It might help or it might make it worse. We've just got to see._

Peter blinked past tears, lips twitching up in a hesitant smile. He started crawling down the walls, walking faster and faster once he reached the ground, until he was flat out running towards the museum. It was a little ways away, but Peter needed to burn the negative emotions off.

He was huffing out little breaths when he finally got there. He knew that he had to look like something of a mess, hair windswept, clothes covered in little spots of grime, out of breath and sweating, tear streaks and puffy eyes adoring his face. The security guard gave him one look over and whispered to the ticket person that she got the ticket. Peter gave her a grateful nod and she patted him on the back as he passed her by.

He moved quickly through the exhibits, finally slowing when he caught sight of Steve's grinning face. He blinked away tears, reaching out to touch the glass in front of one of the pictures. It really was a miracle that the place was still as it was with Steve being a war criminal and all. Peter swallowed and continued to walk through the museum.

He found himself in a room wired up with speakers. There were videos all around the room with Steve giving different motivational speeches, acting in different movies. Feeling something in him settle, Peter turned on every single video and just sat in the middle of the room, eyes closed and sounds washing over him, soothing his sensory overload and his raw emotions. After a brief moment of just  _breathing_ , Peter took out his pen and wrote out,  _Thank you so much. I'm sorry I can't do the same for you._

 _You kind of do,_ Steve answered immediately, writing calmer,  _There are a lot of news reels about you and youtube videos. I've got a lot of them saved. If I feel like I need to be near you, to touch you, I watch those videos. It doesn't take away the whole ache, but it certainly helps._

 _This will get better_ , Peter wrote back, suddenly convinced of this, hope blossoming with every soothing cadence of Steve's voice,  _This will get better. We'll get back to each other soon. This won't last forever._

 _I believe you_ , Steve wrote.

They didn't say anything more that evening. Without even asking, Peter knew that Steve was watching the videos of him while he was listening to the recordings of Steve. They were as close to each other as they could be. It would have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea was suggested by Guest (from fanfiction.net)


	7. Steve

SSSSSS

Steve heard cursing over his comms, spreading throughout the rest of his team as they all took in the situation. He felt his usual admonishment – "Language," – rising on his tongue, but couldn't force himself to say anything. His team had a legitimate reason to curse this time.

Standing there in the military base in front of them was Tony Stark.  _Tony Stark_. Splayed out behind him in a resplendent burst of color was the rest of his team, Vision, Rhodey, and… and  _Spiderman_?  _Spiderman_  was here? Steve couldn't help his own curse from tumbling out. With wide eyes, Steve watched as Stark shook hands with the head of the military base (and, from the research Steve's team had done, suspected Hydra member), smiling charmingly with that hint of barely disguised boredom-disgust-superiority-distraction that was trademark Stark. Spiderman was bouncing on the balls of his feet behind the group, head practically on swivel, huge bug eyes contracting and expanding depending on where he turned his head.

Steve hadn't really gotten a good look at the young hero during their only interaction. He'd been busy fighting people he knew, trying to figure out a way to get himself and his team out of that mess, away from the airport and away from the Avengers, towards the people they were trying to stop. It hadn't even occurred to him to take more notice of the tiny hero beyond a moment of idle conversation. Sure, he'd noticed that the kid had insane reaction times (something that Spiderman called his 'spider sense') and an impressive amount of strength (it's not that easy to catch a truck like that).

Now, though, Steve could  _watch_  and  _notice_  and  _look_. Spiderman was even smaller than Steve remembered, limbs thin and still slightly gangly through the suit. There was definitely a layer of muscle, but also a hint of boniness that spoke to his age. The suit hugged every part of him perfectly, sculpting out an image of what lied underneath. The mask was the worst part, though, completely hiding his face from view. Based on Spiderman's tendency to ramble, Steve felt like Spiderman would have an expressive face and he wanted to see the emotions play over Spiderman's face. Although, to be honest, he really just wanted to see Spiderman's face in general. Or learn his name. Or actually talk to him instead of writing to him. Or hold his hand. Or go on that date they'd been talking about. Or be able to be with him and not be stuck in opposite places in this messed up conflict. Or  _anything_.

It was Falcon's hand on his arm that broke Steve out of his near trance, "You doing okay, man? We need you in the game for this."

Steve took a shuddering breath, "Look at him, Sam."

Sam's eyes flickered towards the tarmac, his lips pulled downwards in confusion. Then, he apparently saw something because his mouth fell open and he cursed again, "I didn't even think about that. God, I didn't make that connection. I'm sorry, man."

Wanda's voice was sharp over the comms, " _What connection?_ "

It was Natasha who answered, " _Spiderman is down there. It's going to be hard for Steve to go against Spiderman._ "

Wanda's curse was, at least, in Sokovian. Steve took a deep breath and shook his head, "Let's just ignore that. I'm being ridiculous. Obviously, we need to rethink our plan. First step to reorganizing our plan is to see what the Avengers are doing." It hurt to say Avengers and mean someone else, but Steve had gotten used to it by now, "Let's hope that they don't decide to stay at the base. I don't think they will because Spiderman's still got a secret identity, but they might anyways."

Everyone gave a soft affirmation, Falcon squeezing Steve on the shoulder before heading back to his location.

They watched for a long time, the afternoon slipping by in a lazy swirl of muttered conversations and ambling personnel. The Avengers had followed the suspected Hydra member (and that had raised Steve's hackles, made him want to burst out of cover and go protect what was his from Hydra; he'd lost enough to them already) into the compound, disappearing for hours.

It wasn't until twilight that they finally reemerged. Steve's gaze immediately moved to Spiderman, checking him out for injuries, trying to read how the day went through Spiderman's expressions. He was prevented from doing both of things by the suit and distance, but Steve consoled himself with the fact that none of the Avengers looks particularly alarmed or angry and Spiderman wasn't limping or favoring any limbs. Steve might not have the best impression of Stark, but he still respected the man. Stark was scared and guilty and doing what he thought was right. Steve really believed that they all would have been able to work it out if they'd sat down and talked about it. There was no time, though. No chance to work it out through the threat of other super soldiers and the machinations of a madman and Bucky's confusion.

Steve shook the thoughts out of his head. This wasn't the time nor place. He needed to focus on seeing where the Avengers went. If they left the compound instead of heading towards the barracks, then Steve's team could attack that night. If not, well, Steve would have to rethink everything.

Thankfully (or maybe not because the sight of Spiderman flying away  _burned_  in a way that not a lot of other things did), the Avengers left immediately after that, flying away in a high tech helicopter. Steve didn't know where they were going or how long they were going to be gone. He waited a half an hour to make sure that they wouldn't be able to get back in time if they were brought in for help, then he struck.

The team moved magnificently. After the time they'd put in together with the rest of the Avengers and the time they'd had to get used to working in a smaller team with a more select group of abilities, they were a well-oiled machine. Steve didn't think he'd be able to work together with a team as smoothly and flawlessly as he did with the Howling Commandos, but that was okay. They were from another time, a simpler one with less grey and more concrete goals. People trusted the heroes to get things done the way they needed to be done. There was no need for the Sokovia Accords, no need to take away the rights of the people who were trying to save the world. Steve knew that the rest of the Howling Commandos would be just as indignant about the Accords as Steve was. He knew that they'd make the perfect team, one he could trust implicitly, could understand. They knew everything about each other. There were no secrets and no judgement. Just… Captain American and his Howling Commandos.

Still, they were gone, dead, left behind with the man that Steve used to be, used to be  _able_  to be. They didn't belong in this new world any more than Steve and Bucky did. The didn't deserve to be put through the trials and horror of this world the way Steve and Bucky had been.

That logic, that knowledge that he didn't want the Commandos in this time (he wanted to be in their time) was what allowed him to work with and lead the Avengers and this new team. They were different, but that didn't always mean worse. And maybe they'd never work as well together as Steve did with the Commandos, but they had a different strength, a different point that made them an amazing team. And Steve was okay with that (he really wasn't; he wanted to go home and bring his best buddy with him. He wanted to find his old friends and fall apart with them and celebrate the end of the war. He wanted to bring his soulmate with him, introduce the gangly hero to his team and watch them accept him, watch them treat him better than he was being treated. He really wasn't okay…).

Steve had to physically shake the melancholy away again, sighing into his arms.

They were back at their temporary base, getting in a few hours of rest before they headed out to a new location, this mission labeled complete and compromised. Steve was too wired with emotions to properly go to sleep. Instead, he sat on his mat and brooded.

The feeling of a pen over his skin jolted him back into the moment. Spiderman was writing,  _So, Mr. Stark just said that the Secret Avengers made an attack on the military base that we were checking out. You okay?_

Steve stared down at the words, irrationally upset and frustrated and lost in the past. There was resentment and  _grief_  and anger swirling around in his mind and Steve took the only outlet he had (and probably the worst one to take). He wrote back roughly,  _Why do you stay with Stark?_

The pause that followed his question was lengthy. Steve wondered if he'd scared off his outlet before he'd even really gotten started. It was a valid question, though. Why would Spiderman stay with Stark when he  _knew_  what the man had done, knew what the Sokovia Accords were, knew  _everything_?

Spiderman's answer was shaky and obviously hesitant,  _I mean, he makes my suit. And he makes sure I have enough money to make my web fluid. You know that I don't really have all that much money just sitting around. It's hard to get the supplies to make my web fluid without stealing from Chemistry class in school. What else would I do, anyways? We live in the same city. Even if I tried to avoid him, I wouldn't be able to. I'm not exactly low profile and he knows where I live._

Steve could feel the anger mounting at Spiderman's words. The worst part was that Steve recognized that the anger wasn't directed at Spiderman at all – the other hero's words were nothing but logical. They made sense and were obviously meant to appeal to whatever mood Steve was in. Spiderman had neglected to bring in his massive heart which wouldn't let him leave the self-destructive Tony Stark alone. He neglected to mention the loyalty he had to the man that made sure that Spiderman had enough money in the house to pay for enough food to eat without becoming a charity case. He neglected to mention the responsibility he felt to prove himself to Stark because the man had helped Spiderman with so many things. Spiderman didn't mention those things, probably realizing that they would set Steve off.

Trying to bring himself under control (and not quite managing it), Steve scribbled out,  _You could join my team. You know roughly where we are right now. I could go and find you in New York, no matter that it would mean that I'm closer to Stark for a brief moment of time. I could find you in New York and take you with us. We could be a team. We could get to know each other. You don't have to stay with Stark. He doesn't need you like I do._ Steve recognized that his handwriting was atrocious, that his mother probably would have come after him with a cat o' nine-tails if she'd seen him writing like this. He recognized that what he was asking was entirely unfair and cruel. He couldn't bring himself to care.

The pause before Spiderman's response was even longer than before. Again, Steve wondered if he was going to answer at all. This response was a lot slower, words almost neat as Spiderman carefully (Spiderman was never careful unless he was upset and trying not to show it because he had this need to not let others see him upset) thought out the response,  _Steve, you know I can't do that. I have school and my family and my best friend. Besides, you know why I turned down being an official Avenger. I want to be there for the little guys, be the friendly neighborhood Spiderman, you know? My home needs protecting and if I'm not there, then who'll protect them?_

 _I can find a safe place for your family, one where they'd be treated with a lot more respect than they seem to be finding in New York,_ Steve desperately explained,  _I can get you schooling there, too. We can do missions when you're not in school there. They probably have a better education system than America does._

There was obvious amusement in Spiderman's words when he wrote,  _Blasphemous! Captain America says that something is better than America?_

Steve didn't mean to snap (but he didn't really mean a lot of what he was saying),  _I'm not Captain America anymore!_

There was another long pause that Steve was beginning to associate with Spiderman feeling hurt before the slow, careful words showed up,  _Right. I knew that. Sorry._

Steve didn't address the apology, instead continuing,  _And I'm sure someone else can look after New York. There are the Defenders there, right? They can deal with a little bit more of the city. New York has the Avengers and the Fantastic Four, too. The X-men aren't all that far away. One of them would take over for what you did if you left._

The words weren't just slow and careful and hurt anymore. There was a hint of coldness to it when Spiderman answered,  _So you're saying that New York doesn't need me, that I'm easily replaceable_.

Sick to his stomach that Spiderman could ever think that way and angry that he would pervert Steve's words like that, Steve scribbled back,  _You know that's now what I meant! Why are you so resistant to this idea? Do you not want to be with me?_

The pause that occurred after that was the longest that Steve had ever experienced with Spiderman. Sure, there had been times where one of them had written something and the other had taken a while to get to a point where they could look at and respond to the comment, but that was about it. If one or the other had to leave in the middle of a conversation, they always left a little note of warning first. They never left each other for really long periods of time.

Except, apparently, this time.

Two hours after his latest outburst, Steve was completely ashamed of his actions. What had he been  _thinking_? This was just as hard on Spiderman as it was on him and he shouldn't try to pressure Spiderman into something he couldn't possibly do. What was wrong with him? And now he'd gone and run off the only good thing in his life (Spiderman wasn't really the only good thing. He was certainly the best, the perfect person to match to Steve's personality, but there were other things. Steve had a great team and a lot of good friends. He had a roof over his head, a bed to sleep in, and food to eat. He had Bucky waiting for him in Wakanda. He was just feeling melodramatic and depressed.)

He was about a minute away from breaking down into tears and about two away from a full blown panic attack when Spiderman answered. The words were still being carefully written, stern and bold, but it was still an answer,  _I want to start this by saying that I'm sorry if I've done something to upset you. I don't know what it is or when I did it, but I'm sorry. That being said, this was an unnecessary low blow. You know that I want to see you and meet you properly. I want it as badly as you want it. You also know how I feel about where I am and the responsibilities that I have here. You know that and have accepted that. I will not leave my family to fend for themselves and I will not bring them along with me to become an international war criminal either. We talked about that. The same way we talked about smuggling you into the country to come live with me and my family and vetoed that. The same way we talked about you coming back and trying to change things the way the government wants you to so you'd be at least in a jail I could theoretically visit you in. We vetoed that too. We talked about this and we agreed. If you want something that I can't give, then we can't be together at all._

Steve wrote back desperately, words a shapely and proper cursive instead of the angry scrawl they'd been earlier that night,  _No, no! That's not what I want at all! I want you, Spiderman. Please. I'm sorry for what I said. All of it. I just… I saw you at that base today. I looked right at you and couldn't do a thing to get your attention or talk to you or be with you in the way I so desperately wanted to. And then, fighting with my team reminded me of fighting with the Howling Commandos. Seeing the Avengers reminded me of when I was an Avenger. Today was just endlessly being reminded of the things I can't have and the things I've lost. I took it out on you and I shouldn't have done that._

 _No, you shouldn't have. But I'm kind of glad that you did. I would always rather you take stuff out on me than someone else. And you apologized, so it's all good,_ Spiderman paused before rushing out,  _You know, when I went to the Captain America exhibit at the museum, I pretty much only payed attention to the stuff that was only about you. I didn't really learn all that much about the Howling Commandos. Could you tell me more about them?_

Steve felt himself calming further, closing his eyes and pressing his fingers against his soulmate's words. Spiderman was too good for him. Too good and too perfect. Hesitantly, not wanting to break the moment, Steve wrote,  _I'll tell you about them in a second. I have to ask something, though. This was, I guess, our first real fight. Are we alright?_

There was no pause, no hesitation this time,  _We're alright. At least, from my point of view. Are we alright from yours? I know it had to have been hard to have seen me like that, standing there with the team that fought you, not being able to come to me. This was a sucky situation for you and I didn't help any. We good?_

 _Absolutely_ , Steve wrote back resolutely. There was no way he was going to let this get between them. He loved Spiderman with every fiber in his being. After a second, he found a relatively large patch of open skin and started writing,  _Now, the Howling Commandos. Whatever history says about us, we were not dignified in any way. We were insane. All over the place. We were a bunch of guys in the middle of a messed up war. We were a complete mess. But they were amazing. I will always respect them more than anyone else. We were brothers in every sense of the word. There was obviously Bucky. Then there was Dum Dum Dugan. His name was something like Timothy or something like that, but everyone always called him Dum Dum. There was Jim Morita. He was pretty nice. Gabe Jones, Jacques Dernier. There were a lot of Howling Commandos in the end. Apparently Dum Dum took over after Buck and I were presumed dead and a couple people left and a few joined up._

Steve spent the rest of the night and long into early morning writing up everything he could about the Howling Commandos. Spiderman threw in questions here or there and Steve occasionally drew a quick image of what he was talking about. In the end, Spiderman had to deal with the aftermath of Steve's team's attack on the military base on zero sleep and Steve had to deal with a quick retreat from the country on zero sleep.

But it was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per anonymous's reminder that I haven't written for this story for a while, here's another chapter! This was suggested by Nitany on AO3!


	8. Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on nitwix_fangirl's prompt!

PPPPPP

Peter was sick. This, he knew with complete certainty. What was less clear was  _how_  he got sick. From what him and Mr. Stark had been able to tell, the spider bite had made it so he physically  _could not_  get sick.

Then again, it might have had something to do with yesterday's weirdo. This one was pretty low-key and relatively easy to take down, but still a creepy weirdo old man who found joy in beating Peter's teenaged self. Creep. Anyways, he had been dressed in some sort of wacko doctor's uniform from the medieval ages and had been spewing nonsense about the plague to end all plagues. Peter was pretty sure he was one of those crazies who figured the best way to show people that they needed to wash their hands more was to give them a deadly plague. People were extreme like that. Anyways, Peter had taken him down and left him to the devices of the cops. He'd webbed up the little orbs of deadly plague that the man had been planning on breaking in the streets, making sure that the orbs were secured and cushioned in the webbing before he took off and left them with someone Mr. Stark trusted so the webbed-up orbs could get somewhere safe where they can't hurt anyone.

Maybe he shouldn't have grabbed the orbs to wrap them in the webs. Maybe he should have shot the webs over them and wrapped them up and  _then_  picked them up. He'd been wearing his gloves, though! It shouldn't have gotten through to him! Sluggishly, his brain (which sounded more and more like Karen every day) reminded him that he'd tripped fantastically earlier in the day, landing with his palms out and gouging his hand through a rough chunk of broken concrete on the ground. Although his skin had healed by that point, the suit did not self-heal and it had probably gone in direct contact with the plague orbs.

Awesome. Well, Peter was pretty sure that he only got a tiny bit of the plague from the plague orbs and that his immune system was good enough that he'd only get a little taste of the plague anyways (the part of his brain that sounded like Karen reminded him that symptoms could include clouded judgement; he ignored it).

Peter was also aware of the fact that he was miserable and couldn't wake May up. She'd taken up another shift to keep them going even though Peter had started a small job at a newspaper and Mr. Stark did his best to sneakily make sure that the Parker family was in any real sort of financial trouble. This second shift went late into the night and she'd probably just gotten to sleep. She needed all the hours of sleep she could get. Peter couldn't wake her up for something so simple!

It was a little after two in the morning. He only had about four hours before they'd both be awake anyways. He could wait that long.

About five minutes later made him think that maybe he couldn't last that long after all. His head  _ached_. His throat  _ached_. His joints  _ached_. The slowly healing knife wound next to his ribs  _ached_.  _Everything_  ached. He was unbelievably miserable. There was a hacking couch that he did his best to stifle – only making it worse. He couldn't wake May up, though. That would be bad.

As the room settled into a temperature somewhere between ice age and encased in a block of ice, Peter raggedly thought that maybe he wasn't thinking too straight. Or, well, straight at all. Or… maybe he just wasn't really think…ing? What?

Peter groaned and buried his face into his arms, displacing a small mountain of tissues next to him. He was pretty sure that death was the better option at this point in time.

Death. Dead. Died. Dying. Peter blinked and squinted as he tried to think of why that word seemed important to him. He squinted more. A shaky memory of talking to his parents about it surfaced, gleaming slightly in his foremind before faded back into inky, murky depths. Like a really old Magic 8 ball that didn't quite work right anymore. He blinked again. Steve. Steve died? Steve told Peter that he was dying! Yes, that was it!

Peter smiled dreamily to himself. He really, really liked Steve. Steve was kind of really awesome. Except not kind of because he was totally awesome. In all the awesomest ways. Without even thinking about it, Peter was slapping around him in search for a pen of some sort.

He ended up fallen halfway off the bed, blood rushing painfully and sudden to his head. He'd needed to take a second and just breathe through the rush and the pain and the gunk that had accumulated in his lungs and nose and throat. Then, he uncapped the pen and started writing on skin,  _I really, really love you Steve!_  He added a shakily drawn heart for good measure. He could feel himself smile sappily again.

There was only a brief pause where Peter hacked uncontrollably into his palm for a good couple seconds before Steve wrote back hesitantly,  _I love you too, Spidey. Aren't you supposed to be in bed right now, though?_

 _I'm in bed! I'm writing to you from in my bed! I just had to tell you how much I love you. Because I love you a lot. And you're really beautiful and handsome. And you're super nice. And pretty. And you have abs. I don't know if I'm in to abs. But you have them, so I have to be into them_ , Peter informed him.

Peter could imagine a laugh, a bright joy in Steve's words when he wrote back,  _I'm glad you like my abs and that you think I'm nice and handsome. I'm sure under that mask, you're just as beautiful. I love you a lot, too. You're so nice and loyal and brave and perfect. I don't know if I've ever told you that. You're perfect, okay Spidey? I love you._ The heart that Steve drew wasn't shaky like Peter's at all. It was crisp and beautiful and detailed and just as wonderful as Steve. Peter beamed down at his skin, smile so big and dopey that it felt like it was going to stay there forever. He took another moment to just smile at the words written in that elegant script along his skin.

He penciled back,  _You're my rock, Steve, my everything. I couldn't do anything without you._  He was sniffling at this point, just so happy and so in love that he couldn't help it (the vague Karen-like part of his brain was yelling at him that he should be more concerned about the practically-delirious state he was currently in).

Peter could feel the gushy, sappy love that Steve had to be feeling when he wrote back,  _You're my everything, too, buddy. You're my world. Now, as much as I'm loving this version of you that's just as cheesy as I am, I'm going to have to assume that you're tired. Want me to draw for you until you fall asleep?_

Straightening with happiness, eyes crinkling at the corner with the idea that Steve was going to  _draw_  for  _Peter_ , Peter quickly scribbled back,  _Yes, please!_

Steve immediately started drawing. The feeling of the pen against his skin was the closest to a hug he was going to get from the older man and Peter felt himself relaxing into the bed, tissues piling up around him as he was lulled past the sickness and into a dreary sleep by the soothing feeling on his skin. There was a small, infinitely detailed bouquet being drawn on his wrist when he finally drifted off.

Waking up was worse than trying to get to sleep. If possible, Peter felt  _worse_  than he'd felt when he'd drifted off to sleep. Most of the confused delirium was gone, though, so that was good. He wasn't sure if that was something that came or went or whatever, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Hopefully, May hadn't gone into his room when he was in that kind of state. Or, better yet, hopefully Peter hadn't gotten his phone out to text anyone. He'd done that when he was younger and still regularly able to get sick. It was so mortifying. Determined to check, Peter reached across himself for his phone.

As his hand was passing in front of him, Peter caught sight of a beautiful little bouquet. Eyes narrowing, Peter followed the trail of drawings to a conversation that  _definitely_  hadn't been there the night before. No. No way. He did  _not_. He read the conversation with mounting horror.

He quickly scrabbled for a pen, jumping when he realized that he had  _no_  idea where he was. He froze, arms in a weird, flailing position.

It was only Happy's voice that calmed him, "Relax kid. You're in the upstate infirmary. Your Aunt May called Tony and said that you were burning up and unresponsive, so we brought you here. Heck of a cold you caught, kid."

"Don't I know it," Peter groaned, voice unbelievably raspy. He didn't know if Happy had even understood him.

More relaxed now that he knew where he was, Peter started peering around him. There, on the little table right next to the hospital bed, was a pen. Peter reached out for it, grabbing it and clicking it open before finding a spot next to that embarrassing conversation and writing,  _We are never speaking of this again._

Steve's response came just as Peter was starting to drift off,  _Aw, but you were being so cute._

 _I hate you_ , Peter wrote, head spinning as he groaned again. Being sick  _sucked_.

There was a definite laugh in Steve's voice when he wrote back,  _I love you too._  He drew a simple heart next to it.

Peter, still a little embarrassed, but mainly still feeling sick and wanting for comfort, drew a little heart of his own, the edges overlapping those of Steve's, two hearts connected forever.


	9. Steve

SSSSSS

Steve squinted down at his arm, not quite sure what it was that Spiderman was trying to draw for him. He was drawing it right next to one of the earliest things Steve had ever drawn. It was a little comic strip from the newspaper years and years ago, from when Steve was maybe three or four. Like with all soulmate conversations, it had faded with time, shrinking into itself, a miniature photo of a past age.

It was kind of like their relationship that way. There was the part of their relationship where Steve was hopelessly alone, convinced that his soulmate hated him and there was no chance of any sort of relationship between them. That part of him was firmly in the past, faded photos, it's history and the people from that time shrunken down and read through modern day context. Then there was the conversations they'd had in the time since they'd met each other: bright and big and full of every instance of love that could fit between them. The symbolism only made their conversations that much sweeter.

From across the table, Natasha rolled her eyes at Sam, "His soulmate's talking to him."

"How can you tell?" Sam asked, leaning over the table to look at the bits of exposed skin on Steve's arms. Steve made a face at them.

Natasha answered easily, "He's making that unbearably stupid dork face."

"I see it," Sam said sagely, nodding.

Steve decided that making faces at them wasn't working and he was just going to ignore them instead. Despite his determination to ignore them, his super hearing didn't let him. He heard it when Sam asked curiously, "What even is he trying to draw?"

Steve glanced up and saw that they were both craned over the table to look at his arm. Giving up on ignoring them, Steve put his arm in the table, watching them both sink back into their seats, watching his arm intently.

He still wasn't entirely certain what it was that Spiderman was trying to draw, either. There was a square with… a man? Holding his hand out to a… butterfly? There might be some bushes behind the man, Steve wasn't entirely certain. There was a line on the man's chest and another above the butterfly. At the bottom of the square (but still inside it) were the words "Is this" followed by another line. There was a long pause after the drawing was complete.

Tilting his head to the side, Steve wrote,  _?_.

Natasha snorted, "You don't know what that is?"

Sam gave her an incredulous, slightly worried look, "You  _do_?"

Rolling her eyes, Natasha stood up, going towards the back of the house they were staying in for the duration of their current mission, "If you don't know, I'm not going to take the time to explain it for you. Spider-kid is probably about to explain it anyways." She glided the rest of the way out of the room.

"Don't call him Spider-kid," Steve muttered subconsciously. He'd seen Spiderman fight terms like 'Spider-baby,' 'Spider-kid,' and 'Underoos' on the news on multiple occasions. It had sort of trained him to react the same way Spiderman would. That was probably a bad thing.

Sam craned over the table to get a better angle to read Steve's arm as Spiderman finally started writing. He didn't write much, though, only stating,  _It's a meme!_

There was a pause where Steve and Sam stared at each other. Then Sam snorted, pushing his fist against his lips to try to contain more of his laughter. Steve rolled his eyes and shoved at him. Spiderman was writing again,  _So, basically, you replace the lines with different words that tie it all together. In the thing this is originally from, the guy saw the butterfly and was like, "Is this a pigeon?" It became a meme. Like, so, there's one where the guy is labeled as 'me,' the butterfly is labeled as 'life,' and the bottom says, "Is this a waste of time?" Like that! I'm beginning your meme education._

Steve gazed fondly at his arm, Sam taking Natasha's regular spot of making gagging noises. He wrote back,  _And who says I need a meme education? Also, maybe you could just write the name of the meme next time? Wait, do memes have names? But aren't they different for different situations? I'm confused._

Steve could  _hear_  the eyeroll in Spiderman's response,  _After that response, who could possibly deny that you need a meme education? Don't worry, we'll get to all of that in later chapters. For today, you need only learn this meme. Class dismissed._

Making gagging noises again, Sam leaned away, "I'm done snooping. You two are too smushy for me. It's disgusting. Enjoy your meme education while I go figure out how  _Natasha_  knows about this meme."

"You're going to go look up the meme," Steve accused.

A small curl of Sam's lips gave him away before he could even pretend to deny it, "Yeah, I'm going to go look up the meme."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was suggested by Samantha L. Riddle (ff.net) with the technicalities of the soulmate words credited to spiderwebdesign!  
> Sorry it's a short one!


	10. Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was suggested by Radio Rascal, so kudos to them!

PPPPPP

Peter stretched languidly, scratching idly at the back of his neck. He paused in that position for a moment before putting a hand in front of his mouth (May and Ben raised him classy after all) and giving a huge yawn. He wrinkled his nose a little bit and blinked away the reflexive tears and the lingering sleepiness.

Happy peered at him over the rims of his sunglasses, Disapproving Gaze levelled through the rearview mirror, "You been spending too much time on patrol?"

Peter flushed momentarily, "No! Nope. Never. May and Mr. Stark were really strict about how late I'm allowed to stay out each night and I try really hard to keep up with that. It's kind of scary when Mr. Stark is mad at me. It's really,  _really_  scary when May is mad at me. It's downright  _world-ending_  when May  _and_  Mr. Stark are mad at me."

Raising an eyebrow just over the edge of the sunglasses, Happy faced back towards the road, "What were you doing, then? Homework? Building your little Lego sets with your…  _guy in the chair_?" Peter was honestly offended for Ned. He had never heard someone put that much disdain into a name before, which was especially impressive because Happy was generally disdainful about most things.

Shaking his head, Peter answered, "Nope and nope! None of those things. It's fine. I'm good. I'm really not that tir-," Peter was cut off, embarrassingly enough, by a yawn stretching out his jaw and stealing his breath.

"Uh huh," Happy responded, entirely unimpressed.

"Look," Peter said, trying to pull out his inner interrogator mode voice (the nice bad guy that had helped Peter with the whole ferry thing had actually been helping Peter out with that whole process; he was actually pretty nice when you got to know him and his nephew was a huge Spiderman fan), "It's none of your business."

Although Peter couldn't see it through the sunglasses, he knew that Happy was rolling his eyes when he threw back, "You know that Tony is going to ask these same questions when you get to the compound. Better get your story straight now rather than stumbling through it later when he interrogates you." He sounded exhausted and at the end of his rope. Peter wasn't sure how to take that. Peter was  _pretty_  certain that Happy secretly liked him, but sometimes it was really hard to tell. Maybe Happy did that on purpose. Maybe it made him, well,  _happy_  when he confused other people. Who was Peter to judge, really?

Wrinkling his nose when he realized that Happy was probably right, Peter sighed, rubbing his forehead, "I got into a conversation with my soulmate and we accidentally stayed up all night talking. Normally, at least one of us remembers that it's bed time in my time-zone since I'm pretty stationary, but we got distracted last night." They'd been talking about some romantic stuff, describing the perfect date they were going to go on when they finally got together. They'd talked about what meeting the family would look like in the vaguest possible manner because the bond was really picky. They picked a restaurant and picked meal items and talked about how they'd eat it and what they'd talk about. It almost,  _almost_  felt like they were actually on the date, hopelessly in love and forgetting to eat their food because they were so engrossed in each other's eyes. Still, that was no excuse for the way they stayed up through the entire night. Peter hadn't exactly regretted it come school time, but he certainly would have enjoyed that physics test a whole lot more if he'd have had at least a partial night's sleep.

Happy shifted uncomfortably in the driver's seat, "Ah, okay. Sorry, didn't mean to ask you about that." It was generally pretty taboo to talk about soulmates. Not, like, debilitatingly so, but still. A little bit. Normally, intimate details about soulmates were only shared among family members and close friends. Lesser details like I-stayed-up-all-night-talking-to-him were reserved for good friends. Peter wasn't really sure where Happy fell on the friendship scale, but he still didn't mind telling him about it.

On further thought, Peter wasn't really sure where Mr. Stark fell on the friendship scale either. Mr. Stark was his mentor and almost seemed to be doing this really bizarre co-parenting thing with May and he was technically Peter's boss through the internship thing. It was all rather complicated. But Peter was also not too thrilled with Mr. Stark after the whole incident in Germany. He  _knew_  that Mr. Stark had good reasons for doing what he did, and he  _knew_  that Steve had good reasons for doing what he did, but still. That didn't excuse lying to Peter about what was going on, manipulating him into helping. Not that Peter needed a lot of manipulating, but the point still stood. Maybe if Mr. Stark had told him the truth – the  _whole_ , unbiased truth, - he would have been able to help. An outside view kind of thing, you know?

Still, it didn't matter in the long run. The past was the past and you couldn't change it (Peter studiously ignored the Empire State Building sized brick of guilt about the past and the what if's he carried around religiously). That didn't mean that Peter couldn't feel the tiniest bit miffed that his  _soulmate_  was still being forced to live on the run, moving from country to country still trying to help people, but unable to do it the legal way.

Mr. Stark was trying to get over it, though. Well, Mr. Stark was trying to  _make up for it_ , actually, but whatever. And he didn't know who Peter's soulmate was, so it was all good. Not really, but still. There was nothing that either of them could do about it and Mr. Stark wasn't entirely in the wrong and he was genuinely trying to fix things. Besides, the Accords were still going strong and Mr. Stark had yet to turn Peter in, so that had to say something, right? Right.

So, Peter hadn't forgiven Mr. Stark, but he was working towards it. Therefore, Peter would probably consider Mr. Stark as a good friend. Not, like, Ned or May level, but maybe MJ level.

Belatedly, Peter realized that he hadn't said anything in response. He flushed a little, "Oh, uh, no problem! It's all good. I don't mind." He paused before flushing further and rushing out, "I mean, unless it bothers you. I don't want to make  _you_  uncomfortable or anything. Like, you know. Sorry. Yeah, that." He trailed off, uncomfortably aware that he'd been rambling again. Just another Parker day.

Up in the front seat, Happy didn't deign to comment, instead increasing the speed a little bit until the compound came in sight, a few thankfully short minutes later.

When they rolled to a stop in front of the main building, Happy waited a second before unlocking the doors, commenting quietly, "You know, you don't have to tell Tony anything if you don't want to. A soulmate is yours. Don't let him convince you otherwise."

Peter sent Happy a blinding smile, "You got it!" He saluted the driver even as his heart filled with bubbly warmth. Moments like this really made Peter feel like Happy did care about him, no matter Peter's confusion on the matter most other times.

Peter walked into the building, following the same pathway he'd taken the few other times he'd been there. The lab was pretty much the only place they met up. Sometimes they would go other places during the visit, but it always started and ended in the lab. Part of it was just to help Peter's image as an intern with Mr. Stark, part of it was so they could work on the suit together, and a part of it was because Peter really was genuinely interested in science.

It didn't take Peter long to get to the labs, bustling into the room with a bright, "Hey Mr. Stark!"

Mr. Stark blinked up at him before squinting and announcing, "You look tired. Did you stay up too long patrolling?"

Peter rolled his eyes, " _No_ , I didn't. Which you probably already knew because you obsessively stalk my suit whenever it's active." Mr. Stark shrugged, unrepentant.

Pointing towards a lightly smoking Dum-E, Mr. Stark said, "He's yours today. He got a little over excited about making Rhodey some coffee and accidentally smashed himself into the counter, which caused the coffee to drop on him."

Absentmindedly petting the robot lightly, Peter started to gather what he'd need, "He's like a small child, hyperactive and so eager to please."

"Don't talk about yourself in the third person," Mr. Stark teased. His words were light-hearted, but there was a worried tint to his eyes. Peter wasn't sure if it was because he was worried on how this post-confrontation-about-Germany Peter would take the joke or if it was because Mr. Stark really was that worried about Peter's sleeping habits.

He flushed regardless, cheeks darkening dramatically as he rolled his eyes, "Oh, ha  _ha_."

"I thought it was funny," Mr. Stark commented idly, already starting in on the project he'd been working on. Peter shook his head and got to working on Dum-E.

Peter was almost asleep inside the main box that made up Dum-E when Mr. Stark gently shook his shoulder. Peter sat up quickly, almost sending Mr. Stark toppling to the ground, "What? I'm awake!"

Mr. Stark snorted, "This isn't school, kid. Come on, I figured some food might  _actually_  wake you up."

Peter blinked at the pizza boxes stacked up in front of him and immediately made a grab for one, instantly shoving the food into his mouth.

He was two pizza slices in when he realized that Mr. Stark wasn't eating, instead staring at his hand, eyes narrowed. With a start, Peter realized that he'd taken his fingerless gloves off and had rolled up his sleeves almost to the elbows in order to work in Dum-E. And he'd forgotten to set himself back to normal in time for the pizza. Which meant that Mr. Stark was staring right at the handwriting on his skin. The handwriting that was from someone Mr. Stark had worked with for a very long time. The probably  _very recognizable_  handwriting.

Swallowing hard, Peter tried to act like nothing was wrong, that he hadn't known that Mr. Stark was staring. Maybe if he didn't say anything, then Mr. Stark wouldn't say anything.

"You know, you can tell what kind of person someone is by looking at their handwriting. Your soulmate's handwriting looks vaguely outlaw shaped," Mr. Stark said tightly. No such luck.

Peter set down his pizza and rolled down his sleeves, fitting on his gloves, "That's rude. It's also rude to stare at other people's soul writing like that. My soulmate is  _not_  an  _outlaw_. Are there even outlaws still out there?" He hated lying. He  _hated_ it.

There was still that tight, rough,  _shattered_  quality to Mr. Stark's voice when he said, "Don't mess with me, Peter. Is that Steve Roger's handwriting on your skin?"

"No," Peter answered instantly, firmly. He hated himself for lying like that. He hated himself for being afraid of what would happen if Mr. Stark knew that he was soulmates with one of the old Avengers. He hated himself for being able to give that answer so firmly. He hated himself  _so much_.

Mr. Stark's agonized gaze had finally switched from Peter's arm to his face. Mr. Stark's voice was low, almost hurt when he said, "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying!" Peter threw back, throwing his arms in the air and adding for good measure, "Don't you think I'd come to you if I suddenly found out that my soulmate was  _Captain America_?"

"Would you?" Mr. Stark asked. Peter had to fight to avoid flinching at the accusations the hurt in that simple question.

Hating himself, hating the situation, hating Mr. Stark a little bit for his part in this, Peter met his eyes and said, "Yes. I would." No, he wouldn't. When did Peter get so good at lying? He sucked at lying. He bumbled and fought his way through the most ridiculous excuses. Maybe there was something to be said about the protective instincts brought out at the thought of a potential threat to his soulmate or soul bond.

Mr. Stark sighed, rubbing a hand over his face wearily, "Right, you're right. Sorry. I shouldn't have accused you like that." Peter stayed silent as Mr. Stark finally took a small bite of his pizza, almost immediately putting it back down, "Look, Peter, I've got a lot of work to catch up on and you still look exhausted. Maybe get an early night of sleep for once. You can take a couple of pies back with you. You can finish some off in the car. I'll get FRIDAY to get Happy out front for you."

"Mr. Stark-," Peter began, but Mr. Stark cut him off.

"Just, it's not your fault, kiddo. I overreacted. Go home and finish up your homework. Go to bed and don't let the various animal themed villains you seem to pick up bite. All that normal teenager jazz," Mr. Stark said, staring down at his pizza like it held the answers to every question he could ask.

Peter bit his lip, torn between staying and leaving. After a second, he sighed and said, "Goodnight, Mr. Stark."

And then he left.

It wasn't until he was safely at home, three boxes of pizza in the fridge and the remnants of the one he'd been eating through the car ride home plopped onto the middle of his bed that Peter really allowed himself to feel the guilt. It crashed into him like a title wave.

That defeated slump and crushed realization in Mr. Stark's eyes were Peter's fault. They were his fault and he told Mr. Stark a huge lie and just…

Breathing in raggedly, Peter pulled out a pen. Steve always told him to contact the older man the moment Peter started feeling like this. He ran a hand over his face before taking a huge bite out of his pizza and finding a spot that was recently freed over the top of his foot,  _Hey Steve._

 _Hey, what's up?_  Was Steve's almost immediate response before the man added,  _I hope you weren't too tired today. I didn't even think of that last night. Sorry!_

 _It's no problem,_  Peter wrote back.

There was a pause and then,  _You okay?_  Appeared in Steve's handwriting. The same handwriting that Mr. Stark recognized, and Peter lied about.

Taking another shaky, ragged breath, Peter wrote back hastily,  _Mr. Stark recognized your handwriting and I had to lie to him about it and he just looked so sad and I hate that I did that to him_. He rushed it all out before he could lose the nerve and just let it fester within him.

There was a softness to Steve's response, sympathy and pride and glowing love emanating from the words,  _You did what you had to do. Someday, I won't be considered a criminal and I'll come back to you in New York. And we'll go to Stark together, telling him what was going on. He loves you, I can tell. I think you're like his kid to him. He'll forgive you for lying. He'll forgive you anything because you're doing it for the right reasons. I love you_

Peter wrote back a careful,  _I love you too_.

He fell asleep sitting up in his bed with his hand pressed over Steve's words, telling himself that it was okay, and he did the right thing, and Mr. Stark wouldn't be mad at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to note that although I am firmly Team Captain America, I don't hate Tony Stark. I think he's an idiot and the cause of most of Marvel cinema's problems, but he's too pitiful and sad and Peter loves him too much for me to fully hate. So. Just so you know. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> So, sorry about that. Kind of depressing. But this is how I felt when I finished watching the movie. When Marvel fixes what they've done, I'll post a fix-it chapter for this that's relatively canon-compliant. Thanks for reading!


End file.
